



■3* "'•'♦•* -<* <*, 

"of 


























^0< 







♦> 



.* «!> 



4*°*. 



^/^* 



\ : ^°- -. 










"V. 












0* o 



V 

^ 













1,0 -n, 



? .° ./°<V ' Wf «r^ V 







^ *W ? \ 









•° ^ 



v* ♦'••* c\ 



>*\-^.% 



^ *Wa° ^ > von- ^ ^ •- 






^ ^TTi* A 



•- ^ 

'. " ^ - 



!_•• o. 



4>' .*"„ ^ 



<* *• 



^ ^ 







<?- ♦*T7i * \A 



0»* .^.>o ■/•,• 



• «4* 



The Greater Love 





chaplain McCarthy 

(Before the Attack at Rember court.) 



The Greater Love 



By 

Chaplain George T. McCarthy, 

U. S. Army 



N£ 



Extension Press 
Chicago 






Copyright 1920 

BY 

EXTENSION PRESS 



DEC 24 1920 



©CI.A605121 



s>*€ | 



W. B. & 



CONTENTS 

CHAPTER PAGE 

Preface 9 

I Leave Home — Base Hospital No. 

1 1 — Camp Dodge 13 

II Camp Mills— St. Stephen's, New 

York — Enter Army 21 

III Camp Merritt— Leviathan — At Sea 36 

IV Brest— Ancey-le-Franc 46 

V In Billets — Departure for Front. . . 56 

VI Puvinelle Sector — Bois le Pretre — 

Vieville en Haye 83 

VII The Greater Love 97 

VIII Thiacourt — Aerial Daring 104 

IX Rembercourt 122 

X Armistice Day — Gorz 141 

XI Domremy — Home 148 



LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS 

PAGE 
Chaplain McCarthy (Before the Attack at 

Rembercourt) Frontispiece 

United States Unit No. 2 — Blessing of 

Unit's Colors at St. Stephen's 18 

Sisters of Unit No. 2 — The Only Sisters of 

the A. E. F 26 

Seventh Division Troops Boarding Levia- 
than at Hoboken 34 

In Rue de Belgrade — Lull Before Battle. . 42 
Taps and Farewell Volleys for Our Heroic 

Dead 50 

The Battle Swept Roadside Was Sanctuary 

and Choir 66 

The Men Behind Our Mess at Bouillionville 74 
Our Dugouts Afforded Shelter and Habita- 
tion 82 

Thiacourt Under Shell-Fire 90 

Doctor Lugar and Aids Working in a Gas 

Attack Near Jolney 98 

The Wounded Were Carried to the Nearest 

Shelter 114 

St. Joan of Arc 122 

Where St. Joan of Arc Made Her First 

Communion 130 

In the Church at Domremy 138 

"Greater Love Than This No Man Has". . "146 



PREFACE 

To him who will but observe the genesis and 
development of moral qualities, whether in the 
individual Man or in the collective State, there 
finally comes, with compelling force, the con- 
viction — God is in His world and has care of it! 
Out of the slime of things mundane, out of the 
very clay of Life's daily round of laughter and 
tears, loving and hating, striving and failing, 
living and dying — the romance of Peace, the 
Tragedy of War — God is still creating men and 
nations and vivifying them with souls Immortal. 
Providence but looks upon the water of the 
commonplace, and behold! it becomes wine of 
Cana! 

The recent world war, hallowed by the very 
purity of motive and intention with which our 
American Manhood took up its burden, led us 
nationally unto those heights of moral perspec- 
tive and spiritual vision known only to him who 
toils upon the hill of Sacrifice. No Spartan of 
Athenian fields, no Regulus of Rome or Nathan 

9 



10 Preface 

Hale, was nobler, higher motived or less afraid 
than our own heroic American Doughboy! 

Into the shaping and formation of his moral 
character many forces entered; and, not least 
of these, the Military Chaplain. This man — 
and every sect and denomination generously gave 
him — was pre-eminently God-fearing, thor- 
oughly patriotic, unselfishly charitable, untir- 
ingly zealous, and whole of soul devoted to duty. 

Mine was the privileged and sacred duty, as 
Vicar General of the Fourteen States compris- 
ing the Great Lakes Vicariate, of knowing inti- 
mately and directing the splendid work of these 
heroic soldiers of the Cross. The inspiration I 
drew, both from these priests and from contact 
with their work and written reports, whether in 
cantonments, camps, hospitals, transports, battle- 
ships, or on the flaming front of the battlefields, 
1 shall ever treasure and recount with pride. 

Archbishop Hayes, appointed by the Holy 
Father "Chaplain Bishop" in charge of all 
priests in Military Service, and who conducted 
the vast responsibilities of that most important 
work with such eminent success, has declared 
our Chaplains to be "the Flower of the Ameri- 



Preface 1 1 

can Priesthood." One of such is Father McCar- 
thy, Author of this book "The Greater Love." 
The same zeal that prompted him to follow the 
boys in Khaki and Blue Over There — making 
himself one with them in hardship, danger and 
wounds for the sake of their immortal souls, 
now impels him to the writing of this Book. 
"The Greater Love" is a religious message 
which teaches that as man needed God in war — 
with a crescendo of need reaching full tide in 
the front trench — even so he needs him in Peace. 
The message is clothed in the narrative of ad- 
venture — personal experiences of the Author — 
and every page an epic of absorbing interest. 
No one is better qualified to bring us message 
from Over There. 

Rt. Rev. Msgr. Wm. M. Foley, V. G. 



"THE GREATER LOVE" 



BY 



George T. McCarthy, Chaplain, U. S. Army 



CHAPTER I 

LEAVE HOME — BASE HOSPITAL NO. 1 1— CAMP 
DODGE 

"Very well then, Father, you have my permis- 
sion and best wishes." 

How the approving words and blessing of 
good Archbishop Mundelein thrilled me that 
memorable morning in 1918. The rain-washed 
freshness of April was abroad in Cass street; and 
the soft breeze, swaying the curtain of the Chan- 
cery window where he was seated, brought in- 
cense of budding tree and garden. 

Patiently he had listened, while I presented 
my reasons for wishing to become a war Chap- 
lain. How, obedient to that call to National 
Service which is 

"The pride of each patriot's devotion," 
13 



14 The Greater Love 

millions of our boys were exchanging the shel- 
ter of home and parish influence for the priva- 
tion and danger of camp and ship and battlefield. 

To accompany them, to encourage them, to ad- 
minister to their spiritual and moral needs, to 
fortify their last heroic hours with "Sacramenta 
propter homines," here was a Christlike work 
pre-eminently worthy the best traditions of the 
Priesthood. 

Even as, earnestly, I pleaded my case, I bore 
steadily in mind recollection of that lofty patri- 
otism and brilliant leadership which had al- 
ready made Chicago's Archbishop a foremost 
National Champion. It was but yesterday that 
the Secretary of the United States Treasury had 
called, personally, to thank and congratulate him 
on his inspiring patronage of Loan and Red 
Cross Drives. 

In the sympathetic glow of his face I read ap- 
proval even before hearing the formal words of 
permission. 

"Moreover, Father, I will appoint an admin- 
istrator at once, to care for the parish during 
your absence. You will receive, through Father 
Foley's office, letters duly accrediting you to 



Leave Home 15 

Bishop Hayes, Chaplain Ordinary, and the Na- 
tional authorities." 

A fond ambition, long cherished, was about 
to be realized! I had, of course, been doing 
something of a war "bit," co-operating with pa- 
rishioners, and town folks like Mayor Gibson and 
Doctor Noble, in the various patriotic rallies and 
drives. Father Shannon of the "New World" 
thought so highly of our city's efforts as to visit 
us and eloquently say so at a monster Mass Meet- 
ing of citizens. "Do you know, George," he re- 
marked that night as he marched beside me in 
the street parade, "if I could only get away, I 
would gladly go as a Chaplain." 

Then I told him my secret, how I had filed 
my war application some months before, and 
had been meanwhile seasoning my body to the 
out-of-doors and practicing long hikes. 

But a single cloud now remained in the radi- 
ant sky of dreams — the thought of parting! Ten 
years of residence in so Arcadian a place as Myr- 
tle Avenue, and in so American a town as Har- 
vey, engender ties of affection not easily to be 
sundered. Then, too, the school children, how one 
grows to love them, especially when you have 



16 The Greater Love 

given them their first Sacraments, and even 
joined in wedlock their parents before them. Of 
course for the priest who, more perhaps than 
any other man, "has not here a lasting city," 
whose life is so largely lived for others, and 
whose "Holy Orders" so naturally merge with 
marching orders, the leave-taking should not 
have been so trying. Preferable as would have 
been 

"No moaning of the bar 
When I put out to sea," 

the parting that night with the people in the 
school hall, and again, the following morning at 
the depot, was keenly painful — a grief, however, 
every soldier was to know, and, therefore, brave- 
ly to be endured. 

How sacred and memorable were the depot 
platforms of our beloved country in war time! 
Whether the long, smoke stenciled, trainshed of 
the Metropolis, or the unsheltered, two-inch 
planking sort, of the wayside junction ; they saw 
more of real life, the Tragedy of tears and the 
Comedy of laughter, than any stage dedicated 
to Drama. There, life was most real and in- 



Leave Home 17 

tense. The prosaic words "All Aboard" seemed 
to set in motion a final wave of feeling that 
surged beyond all barriers of the conventional — 
the last pressure of heart to heart and of hand to 
hand ; the last response of voice to voice ; the last 
sight of tear dimmed eye and vanishing form, as 
the train rumbled away beyond the curve, leav- 
ing a ribbon of black crepe draped on the hori- 
zon. 

First impressions, we are told, are most last- 
ing. Arrival at Camp Dodge, Iowa, the follow- 
ing morning and subsequent meeting with the 
officers and enlisted men of Base Hospital No. 
n, made an impression so agreeable time itself 
seems merely to have hallowed it. 

Association with the soldierly and gracious 
Colonel Macfarlain, the splendid Major Percy, 
the energetic Captain Flannery, together with 
Doctors Roth, Ashworth, Carter (the same T. 
A. Carter whose skill later saved the lives of 
poisoned Shirley and Edna Luikart), Lewis, 
Shroeder, and others, became at once an inspira- 
tion and pleasure. Most of these gentlemen had 
been associated with either St. Mary of Naza- 
reth or Augustana Hospitals, Chicago ; and had 



18 The Greater Love 

patriotically relinquished lucrative practices to 
serve their country in its need. Words cannot 
too highly praise, nor excess of appreciation be 
shown our gallant public-spirited doctors and 
corpsmen, who, whether here or overseas, made 
every sacrifice to build up and maintain the 
health of the largest Army and Navy of our 
history. 

The personnel of enlisted men, too, with Base 
n, was exceptionally superior, coming from 
some of the best families of the Middle West. 
Anderson, McCranahan and the two Tobins of 
the famous Paulist choir were there, and what 
wealth of vocal melody they represented! Tal- 
bot, Bunte, and Leo Durkin of Waukegan; 
Dunn, Farrell, Lewis, Talbot — these, and five 
hundred others like them, were the splendid fel- 
lows to whom I now fell heir. 

Camp Dodge, like many another Cantonment, 
the War Department miraculously "raised" over 
night, was a vast school, pulsating with martial 
throb. Hundreds of the brain and brawn of the 
far-flung prairies were arriving daily, and being 
classified, drilled and seasoned into efficient sol- 
diers. 



Leave Home 19 

Poets have to be born; but soldiers, in addi- 
tion to qualities inbred, have to be made; and 
while the process of making was invariably la- 
borious and often discouraging, it usually repaid 
patient effort. The raw recruit of yesterday be- 
came the pride of the line today! 

They call me the "Raw Recruit," 

The joke of the awkward squad, 
The rook of the rookies to boot, 

And a bumpkin, a dolt and a clod; 
But this much I'll plead in defense 

I seem popular with these chaps, 
For they keep me a'moving thither and 
hence 

From Reveille to Taps. 

Though no doubt I have had them for years, 
For the first time I'm sure I have feet! 

When the Corporal said "Halt" it appears 
That my feet thought he ordered "Re- 
treat"! 

And my eyes o'er who's blue ladies 'd rave, 
And called them bright stars of the night, 

Now simply refuse to behave 

2— N.20 r J 



20 The Greater Love 

And mix up "Eyes Left" with "Eyes 
Right." 

I'll admit that I'm no hand to brag; 

But the fact is I've won a First Prize I 
'Twas not that I have any drag, 

Nor excel in the officers' eyes. 
It was close, but I won, never fear; 

My home training helped me, I guess; 
I beat every man about here; 

At being the first in, at "Mess"! 

My Corporal admits I'm not bad 

Through the night, when I'm buried in 
sleep! 
It's waking that I drive him mad, 

And cause very demons to weep. 
But Rome was not built in a day! 

And once I get used to my suit, 
I'll just force all these pikers to say 

"He once was a raw recruit!" 



CHAPTER II 

CAMP MILLS— ST. STEPHEN'S, NEW YORK— ENTER 

ARMY 

Given sufficient time and mellowing, the but- 
terfly eventually merges from the chrysalis ; and 
it was with rapturous delight early June saw us 
exchange Camp Dodge for Camp Mills, Long 
Island! We were now on the shores of the 
Atlantic, and would soon tread the deck of our 
ship of dreams — a transport bound for Over 
There ! 

Enter, now, the "season of our discontent!" 
It all grew out of the nature of the Commission 
I was holding. It was not at all satisfying. Com- 
mission in the Red Cross, I discovered, did not 
authorize front line service; it would hold a per- 
son somewhere in the rear area; this would not 
do; I determined to enter the regular Army. 

A kind Providence helped bring this about! 
Instructions were abruptly received from the 
iWar Department classifying all Red Cross 
Chaplains as mere civilians, denying them the 

21 



22 The Greater Love 

right to sail with the Units they had accom- 
panied East! 

Fully fifteen other such Chaplains were then 
at Camp Mills waiting sailing orders. They, 
too, had left their home towns and positions fully 
expecting service overseas. Receipt of this 
heart-breaking news induced many to give up 
the work and return home, utterly discouraged. 
It only served to hasten my entrance into the 
regular Army. 

Going at once to the Rectory of St. Stephen's, 
East 29th St., New York, direction and cordial 
welcome was there received from one of God's 
noblest of men, Bishop Hayes. Appointed by 
the Holy Father to the special direction and care 
of all Chaplains in the National service, this 
brilliant and big-hearted Prince of the Church 
was father and friend to all. 

Father Waring, the Vicar General, and the 
vicars and assistants in the Ordinariate and parish 
of St. Stephen's co-ordinated in their own charm- 
ing manner with the vastly important work and 
cordial hospitality of their devoted chief. 

Within a week the physical and mental exami- 
nations had been successfully passed and com- 



Camp Mills 23 

mission received as First Lieutenant in the Na- 
tional Army. 

While those days at St. Stephen's were of sur- 
passing pleasure in the rare companionship af- 
forded, they were characterized, too, by a round 
of strenuous activity. There was the necessary 
visit to Fifth Avenue, where the good ladies of 
the Chaplain's Aid, doing the same great good 
in the East that Father Foley's Aid Society was 
doing in the West, generously supplied the nec- 
essary Mass and Sacramental equipment. Then, 
too, the farewell Musical by the Paulist vocalists 
of Base 1 1, given at Garden City; and for which 
Mrs. Charles Taft kindly acted as hostess. Gen- 
uine regret marked that unavoidable parting. 
To co-labor with such splendid officers and men 
was truly a privilege; and to have served, even 
briefly, with the gallant "n" that wrought so 
worthily overseas, is an honor proudly ever to be 
cherished. 

It was during these days an event occurred 
which the "Parish Monthly," of St. Stephen's, 
was good enough to record : 

"On Tuesday, July 23, Unit No. 102, Overseas 
Nursing Corps, gathered in our church, to ask, 



24 The Greater Love 

in truly Catholic fashion, God's blessing on their 
journey across the Atlantic. Ten 'Cornet' Sis- 
ters of Charity are in charge of this Unit, which 
is almost wholly Catholic in its membership and 
which has been recruited from hospitals con- 
ducted by these Sisters in the South and West. 
"At six-thirty, Chaplain George T. McCar- 
thy, U. S. A., of Chicago, celebrated Holy Mass. 
A congregation which numbered, besides the 
Unit, our own Sisters of Charity, many overseas 
Nurses attached to other units and a goodly 
quota of our parishioners was present. All 
received Holy Communion. At the conclusion 
of the Mass, the "Star-Spangled Banner" was 
sung, and after he had blessed a large American 
flag — the colors of the Unit — Father McCarthy 
bade the nurses farewell." 

SERMON 

"In this holy hour and place, while Jesus, the 
gentle Master, still lingers in your Eucharistic 
hearts, we are met for a two-fold purpose — to 
bless the starry banner of the free — the colors of 
your Unit — and to wish you Godspeed on your 
heroic way. 

"Here within these historic walls of St. Ste- 



Camp Mills 25 

phen, the Proto- Martyr, whose every stone and 
pillar and vaulting arch is richly storied with the 
•memories of surpassing men and women and 
their splendid achievements — here, as it were, 
on the shore of the far-flung billows of the At- 
lantic, you are gathered from the length and 
breadth of our beloved country. With all the 
sacred courage of an Agnes of Italy, an Ursula 
of England, a Joan of France, you have, during 
the past few days and weeks, been called upon 
to bid your loved ones at home a fond and tender 
farewell, as you go to follow the trail of the 
Crimson Cross to service overseas. 

"Our first and most holy purpose here, indeed, 
is to bless this flag that is to lead you on your 
way; but most truly may the question be asked: 
'Can the flag of our beloved Country be blessed 
more fully than it already is?' Its red is conse- 
crated by the blood of countless heroes ; its white 
is stainless and unsullied as the Truth and Jus- 
tice for which it has forever stood; its blue is 
of the midday heavens, lofty in its purpose to 
point the way of freedom to all mankind, that 
'Government of the people, for the people, and 
by the people' may not perish from the earth! 



26 The Greater Love 

"As we unfurl it to the breeze, it speaks with an 
eloquence irresistible and it tells a story of hero- 
ism and patriotism unsurpassed. It brings mem- 
ory of Lexington and Concord; it tells of suffer- 
ing at Valley Forge, and of Victory at Yorktown. 
It was waved in triumph on the hills of Gettys- 
burg; and the blue of Grant and the gray of Lee 
entwined it forever in the reunion of Appomat- 
tox. Dewey carried it to victory in Manila 
Bay, even as Shafter and Joe Wheeler did at San 
Juan and Santiago. 

"When a military Power overseas attacked the 
cause of universal freedom in the world, Persh- 
ing with his boys in khaki, and Benson with his 
boys in blue, carried that flag to the forefront of 
the battle line; and today, side by side with the 
banners of England, martyred Belgium, gallant 
Italy, and unconquerable France, it waves defi- 
ance to the foe. It kisses the poppies of Flan- 
ders and to the lilies of France it whispers 'La- 
fayette, we are here.' In asking, therefore, the 
God of Truth and Justice to bless this flag, we 
offer Him no indignity. As He loves the right, 
He must love Old Glory, and therefore we ask 
Him to re-adorn it with victory. 




bjo 
< 

H Q a 

O r^i m 

O 

OT .- " 

o> 

w tJ •" 

M CJ.i" 

I I- 

CM Sx! 

n (U 

. rt -u 

^ «w 

H «*-* 
C/J o 



on 



Camp Mills 27 

"Ours, too, is the performance of another 
duty, it is to speak the briefest, yet the hardest 
of all words to utter, the word of final farewell. 
Had I the gift of eloquence, I would pour into 
that word, as into a casket of alabaster, all the 
love, all the affection, all the sad sweet smiles, 
all the 'God be with you until we meet again/ 
of your loved ones back home. Through the 
gates of memory you have left ajar, I seem to 
see your old home town — the streets guarded by 
sentinels of maple, oak, and elm; the cottage 
of white, with lattice of climbing roses; and in 
the door, her dear face looking sweetly sad yet 
bravely, towards you, the mother who kissed you 
as you turned to go. Tenderly she hung the 
service flag in the window; bravely will she 
wait and pray beside the vacant chair. 

"Many of you have come from the dear old 
Southland; and there seems to come to me now, 
floating down the valley of dreams, the song 
old mammy used to sing: 

" 'I hear the children calling 
I see their sad tears falling, 
My heart turns back to Dixie 
And I must go.' 



28 The Greater Love 

"Yes, my dear Sisters and nurses, you must go. 
There is need of you over there. Our Country's 
heroes are there, bleeding and dying, and they 
need you, beloved angels of mercy, to bind their 
wounds. In the cities, the academies and hos- 
pitals from which you came, there are those who 
would love to be with you on this mighty errand 
of National Service. The Providence of God 
has chosen you, however, for the work, and not 
them. As of old, on the shores of Galilee, the 
God of Mercy commissioned His chosen follow- 
ers to carry into the broad world His blessing, 
even so from these shores of the Atlantic He 
is sending you forth on your mission of love. 

"From yonder tabernacle, He stoops to each 
one of you and sweetly whispers : 'My daughter 
of the crimson Cross, of the faithful soul, of the 
clean heart, and skillful hand, I am sending 
you over there as My own representative. I 
know you will not fail Me, and that even unto 
death you will be true to the Cross and Flag that 
go before you V The Nation is proud of you and 
you are the holiest and best offering of our Coun- 
try to the cause. 



Camp Mills 29 

"And thus be it ever when freemen shall 
stand 
Between their loved home and wild war's 
desolation. 
Blest with victory and peace, may the 
heav'n rescued land 
Praise the Power that has made and pre- 
served us a nation. 
Then conquer we must, since our cause it is 

just, 
And this be our motto, 'In God is our 

Trust!' 
And the Star-Spangled Banner in triumph 

shall wave 
O'er the land of the free and home of the 
brave." 

As Base Hospital 102 is vested with the proud 
distinction of comprising on its roster the only 
Sisters accompanying the American Expedi- 
tionary Forces, it may be here permitted to an- 
ticipate and insert a brief account of its heroic 
personnel and their splendid service. 

Its Chief Nurse was Sister Chrysostom 
Moynahan of Mullanphy Hospital, Saint Louis, 
Missouri; Sister Agatha Muldoon, Sister Angela 



30 The Greater Love 

Drendel, Sister Catherine Coleman, and Sister 
Florence Means were from the Sisters of Char- 
ity Hospital, New Orleans. Sister De Sales 
Loftus and Sister David Ingram were from the 
City Hospital, Mobile, Ala. Sister Lucia Dolan, 
St. Mary's Hospital, Evansville, Ind. Sister 
Mariana Flynn, St. Joseph Hospital, St. Joseph, 
Mo., and Sister Valeria Dorn, St. Vincent Hos- 
pital, Sherman, Mo. The ninety nurses were 
graduates of the various nurses' schools con- 
nected with the hospitals in charge of the Sis- 
ters of Charity. 

They took the oath of allegiance July 2, 191 8, 
and reported at New York on July 4. There 
they were equipped by the Red Cross with uni- 
forms for overseas duty and were given the nec- 
essary military training by an army officer. 

The officers and enlisted men, of whom there 
were thirty-six of the former and two hundred 
of the latter, in charge of Dr. Dana, reported 
at Fort McHenry, and when they were ready 
the Sisters and nurses joined them there. Its 
chaplain was the Rev. Godfrey P. Hunt, O. F. 
M., of Washington, D. C. 

Thus completed, the unit sailed August 4 on 



Camp Mills 31 

the Umbria, which ship was afterward lost with 
Italian troops in the Adriatic. The second day 
out the work of the unit began, when fifteen 
men, who had been struggling with the waves 
in a row boat for twenty-four hours, were picked 
up. They belonged to the O. A. Jennings, oil 
tank, which had been torpedoed. They were 
given treatment by the unit, which turned back 
with them for a day's journey; then, given sup- 
plies, they were started toward land, which was 
in sight. The gratitude of the rescued men 
amply rewarded the unit for its work of mercy. 

The Umbria was without convoy, and though 
in one night alone it received fourteen warnings 
of submarines, it threaded its perilous way in 
safety, and on August 18 reached Gibraltar, 
where a stop of three days was made. The offi- 
cers and nurses were given shore leave, and put 
in their time visiting places of interest. 

On August 21 the start for Genoa was made, 
which port was reached on the 27th. The Amer- 
ican Ambulance Corps, with a band of music, 
met the unit at the boat, and Italian officers went 
aboard to greet the Americans in the name of 
the Italian Government. The Sisters and nurses 



32 The Greater Love 

were taken to the Victoria Hotel, while the 
commanding officer, Colonel Hume of Frank- 
fort, Ky., and Lieutenant Colonel Dana, went to 
Rome to secure a place at the front for the base 
hospital. 

The place selected was Vicenza, about fifteen 
miles from the firing line. It was located in the 
Rossi Industrial School, which in olden days 
had been a Dominican convent. 

Here for seven months the Americans carried 
on their work of mercy and during that time 
three thousand patients were cared for, of which 
number only twenty-eight were lost, and they 
were victims of the influenza, which was very 
severe in that locality. It was a remarkable 
record, the lowest loss of any of the American 
units. The 332d regiment of Ohio boys was 
in the section. The Ambulance Corp, com- 
posed chiefly of college men, did excellent work. 
The Sisters found the Italians very grateful, and 
their admiration for the Americans was great. 
There were many gas cases, and while hundreds 
had their eyes badly burned, such was the suc- 
cess attending the treatment they received, not 
one patient suffered the loss of his sight. A great 



Camp Mills 33 

deal of good was also done by the Sisters and 
the chaplain in bringing back neglectful soldiers 
to their religious duty. 

On several occasions air raids threatened the 
town, but as the Italian aviation force was su- 
perior to that of the enemy, no injury was done, 
although earlier in the year Vicenza had suf- 
fered severe bombardments. 

As the work increased a second hospital was 
opened for Italians for medical cases exclusive- 
ly. Besides Italian and American soldiers, 
British soldiers were also treated at the base 
hospital. 

The signing of the armistice was joyfully 
celebrated in Vicenza, and so keenly did the 
Italian people recognize that the ending of the 
war was largely due to America, it was a com- 
mon occurrence for American soldiers to be 
caught up and carried in triumph through the 
streets by the emotional Italians. 

As their work grew lighter, leaves of absence 
were given the hard-working Sisters and nurses. 
During one of these the Sisters visited Rome, 
and had the happiness of assisting at the Mass 
of the Holy Father and receiving Holy Com- 



34 The Greater Love 

munion from him. Later they were received 
in private audience by the Pope. The Sisters 
had also the pleasure of visiting the mother- 
house of their Order in Paris. It was while 
there they were ordered to proceed to Genoa 
for embarkation. 

They sailed from Genoa March 21 for Mar- 
seilles, where they were joined by several Amer- 
ican officers and nurses who had served in 
France, arriving in New York April 4. 

While they were the only Sisters with the A. 
E. F., still they found everywhere abroad Sis- 
ters doing their share of work. One band of 
Italian Sisters of Charity walked sixty-five miles 
with a retreating force. They were in the war 
since its beginning. This is not only true of the 
Italian Sisters, but also of the French and Bel- 
gian, and presumably of those in the enemy 
countries. The American Sisters were glad of 
the opportunity to give their service in this war, 
in which their country was engaged, as they 
have done their part in the other wars of the 
Republic. 

I had made known to good Bishop Hayes my 
decided preference for a combat force, and have 



Camp Mills 35 

always felt he favored me, for, on July 30, the 
message from the War Department came: "Re- 
port at once to Officer Commanding Seventh 
Division, Camp Merritt, New Jersey." 

Good Father Dinneen, the Bishop's Secretary, 
added to my joy by venturing opinion, that the 
"Seventh" was about to sail! He also gener- 
ously equipped me financially — "Just a little pin 
money for you," as he charmingly expressed it. 

What magnificent men these priests of St. 
Stephen's and the Ordinariate! How worthy to 
be associated with the Bishop who so kindly, so 
wisely, and so well cared for the Chaplains in 
the National service. 

Reporting at once to Camp Merritt I entered 
upon my Army duties. 



CHAPTER III 

CAMP MERRITT — LEVIATHAN — AT SEA 

The gallant Seventh Division, destined to ren- 
der a service well worthy of Old Glory, was then 
commanded by Brigadier General Baarth with 
Col. W. W. Taylor, Jr., Chief of Staff, and Col. 
John Alton Degan, Adjutant. 

It comprised the 34th, 55th, 56th and 64th 
Regiments of Infantry; the 6th and 7th Regi- 
ments of Field Artillery; 19th, 20th and 21st 
Machine Gun Battalions, 10th Field Signal Bat- 
talion and Divisional Sanitary and Supply 
Trains, with a complete field equipment of 
32,000 men. 

The Chaplain's Corps of the Seventh com- 
prised Rev. Fathers Martin and Trainor, and 
Rev. Messrs. Cohee, Rixey, Hockman and 
Evans. Fathers Gwyer and LeMay joined in 
France. All these Chaplains rendered a brave 
and excellent service, meriting the respect and 
confidence of officers and men alike. 

36 



Camp Merritt 37 

Departure of that mighty fighting force from 
Camp Merritt was deeply impressive. At the 
midnight hour of the First Friday in August, 
Mass was said for the last time, and hundreds 
of the boys received Holy Communion. Within 
an hour all were on the march, under full pack, 
along the country road, leading to the Palisades 
of the Hudson. 

The night was densely dark, and grimly each 
soldier trudged along, guided only by the bob- 
bing pack of the comrade in front of him. Chill 
gray dawn saw the head of the column emerge 
from the hills at a secluded point on the Jersey 
shore, where waiting ferry boats were boarded, 
which conveyed us to the wharf of the Leviathan 
at Hoboken. 

How thrilled we were to find this giant of all 
the seven assigned to carry us "Over There!" 
Nine hundred feet long, one hundred feet wide, 
thirty-six feet draft and nine stories deep! Like 
some fabled monster of the sea, which well her 
weird camouflaged sides suggested, she opened 
her cavernous jaws and received as but a morsel 
thirteen thousand men. 

Here was our first contact with the gallant 



38 The Greater Love 

Navy — here did the mighty tide of khaki gold 
merge with the deep sea blue of heroes. 

"Columbia loves to name 

Whose deeds shall live in story 
And everlasting fame." 

Leaning nonchalantly on the rail of their 
mighty ship, the Jackies, all perfect specimens 
of young American manhood, quietly watched 
us march aboard. We were as novel to them as 
they to us, yet what confidence they inspired! 
Curiously yet kindly they looked us over, ap- 
provingly observed the long orderly lines of our 
glittering rifles stretching away through the dim 
sheds, and seemed to say, "You are worth while 
fellows ! — we'll take you over all right, all right, 
for our little old Uncle Sam!" 

To quarter, feed, and sleep 32,000 men; to 
carry them across 3,000 miles of angry pathless 
sea, where lurked the deadly mine, and prowled, 
as panthers of the deep, the submarines — this 
was the task assigned to the Leviathan and our 
convoy ships, the Northern Pacific and the 
Northland. How well our superb Navy "car- 
ried on" not only for us but for seventy times our 



Camp Merritt 39 

number, let the most brilliant pages of seafaring 
annals tell! 

With perfect co-ordination between our Army 
and the ship authorities, all troops, equipment, 
and provisions were aboard within ten hours; 
and promptly at three o'clock the following 
afternoon the Leviathan swung out from her 
pier on the North River and headed seaward. 

In serried ranks, silent and still as at attention, 
the troops lined both sides of the upper and 
lower decks. As at the funeral of Sir John 
Moore "not a drum was heard," for who can 
cheer at the thought of dear ones left behind, 
with the kiss of fond farewell still lingering in 
loving memory on the lip, with the soldier's 
requiem echoing through lonely hearts : 

"Farewell, mother, you may never 

Press me to your heart again ; 
When upon the field of battle 
I'll be numbered with the slain." 

As we passed down the city front, every build- 
ing, on both the New York and Jersey sides, 
burst into color; handkerchiefs signaled a last 
farewell; and out of the mists of our tears 



40 The Greater Love 

seemed to rise a mighty rainbow, spanning ship 
and receding shores, and spelling in letters of 
heavenly hue, "God be with you till we meet 
again." 

With destroyers ahead, astern, and on the 
beam, two hydroplanes circling and paralleling 
above, and a solitary observing balloon hovering 
over the Long Island shore, our ship and con- 
voys stood boldly out to sea. 

We were now in the war zone, easily within 
range of hidden mines and torpedoes, and, like 
the charger who scents the battle from afar, we 
thrilled and were glad with the thought of dar- 
ing deeds before us. 

The ship Chaplain was good Father McDon- 
ald, Captain United States Navy, one of the 
most beloved and notable figures of the war. 
Every evening at the sunset hour he would go to 
the bridge. The Commander of the Leviathan, 
Captain Bryan, together with his staff, would 
be there assembled; and, as the last rays of the 
sun sank beneath the waves, every soldier and 
sailor on board would stand rigidly at attention 
and offer prayer as Father McDonald would 
raise his hand in absolution and benediction. 



Camp Merritt 41 

How near God seemed in that vast, horizon- 
wide cathedral of the sea! Its vaulting dome 
more radiant than St. Peter's sculptured prayer; 
its altar, clothed with the lace of ocean foam; 
its pavement strewn with silvery sheen; its 
sanctuary light the candelabra of the stars. "I 
will lead thee into solitude and there I will 
speak to thy soul." God, Eternity, and Things 
Divine were here made real ; and to each lonely 
boy wrapped in blanket on the dark cold deck, 
there came the message that: 

"Far on the deep there are billows 

That never shall break on the beach; 
And I have had thoughts in the silence 
That never shall float into speech/' 

A town of 13,000 population, ashore, is one 
thing — at sea, it is something else I First of all 
the question of clothing, most young men back 
home are fastidious — here all must wear the 
life preserver style trimmed a la canteen, which 
means our canteen, filled with water ration, 
must be our inseparable companion — verv much 
attached to us, as it were. 

On shore, juvenile America spends his eve- 



42 The Greater Love 

nings downtown ; here, he must remain at home 
— indoors, if you please, not even deck prome- 
nades being permitted. Again, to the average 
young man, the disposition of cigarette butts is of 
little concern — m'lady's best parlor centerpiece, 
polished floor or cherished urn usually preferred; 
woe betide the luckless Buddie who denies his 
poor dead fag decent burial in the ubiquitous 
spit kit! To throw butts, gum wrappers, 
matches or anything but glances overboard, clew 
to the vulture eye of the lurking submarine, was 
a positive court martial offense. It was begin- 
ning to be evident that Sherman was right! 

Yet all went well; and that indomitable hu- 
mor which ever characterized our boys, which 
rose superior to all hardship and danger, and 
smiled in the very face of Death, made tolerable, 
if not happy, those seven thrilling days at sea. 
"Some swell place" would be Buddie's comment 
on the tossing waves of mid-Atlantic ; and usu- 
ally having been well, and not used to see sick- 
ness, he was easily prone to seasickness! 

One day private Barry, 64th Infantry, came 
to me. "Chaplain, I am in great trouble! Be- 
fore leaving Camp Merritt my best girl and 



Camp Merritt 43 

her mother called to see me off, came from away 
back home to say good-bye. Now I am not satis- 
fied with the details of that parting; I am just 
crazy about the girl, and what worries me is the 
thought that, in the excitement of leaving, I may 
not have made it perfectly clear to her how much 
I really love her. Now, Chaplain, I want you 
to write her a letter, make it good and strong, 
and tell her how much I love her. Will you 
do that?" 

What else was I to do? I was his Chaplain, 
his big brother, friend and pal. His comrade in 
arms, climbing with him even then the road to 
Calvary's hill! "Sure thing — leave it to me, old 
man — but say, tell me, just how did you act and 
what did you say to her in parting?" 

He told me. "Well, that looks pretty con- 
vincing; I think she saw you loved her all right 
— however, I will write the letter provided you 
help me." 

We sat down on a coil of rope and together 
wrote the letter, collaborating in the most 
unique, most compelling, missive ever written 
on board the Leviathan! 

How he treasured that letter! How carefully 



44 The Greater Love 

he guarded it, how prayerfully, in due time he 
followed its journey from Ponteneuson Barracks, 
Brest, back to Chicago. Was it successful? 
Here's to you, Barry, old top, now happily mar- 
ried, in your snug little home in old Chi — and 
my best regards to Mrs. Barry. 

One day in mid-ocean, with a fresh gale blow- 
ing abeam, and the three troopships rolling and 
throwing spray high in the air from a heavy 
white-capped sea, the cry rang out "man over- 
board from the Northern Pacific!" A soldier 
had slipped on the watery deck; and, before 
his mates could reach him, was overboard. 

Alarm was at once sounded, lifebuoys thrown 
toward him, the vessels came about and circled 
diligently around, but no sign was seen of him. 
His untimely and tragic death deeply affected 
us all ; and though the ocean was his grave and 
the spume of the sea his shroud, his memory 
abides with us in the sanctuary of our prayers. 

On the morning of the sixth day, a flotilla of 
destroyers bore down on us. So apparently from 
nowhere did they come, we were tempted to be- 
lieve they rose from the depths of the sea. How 
thrilled we were to see those six greyhound ter- 
rors of the submarine take position around us — 



Camp Merritt 45 

one ahead, one astern, and two on each beam. 

It was now full speed ahead on a zigzag 
course. We were in the most deadly submarine 
infested zone of the ocean. Only yesterday the 
Susquehanna had been torpedoed in these very 
waters, and, no doubt, the same evil periscopes 
were watching us now from beyond yonder 
kopje of a wave! Our temples throbbed pound- 
ingly; our throats grew dry, our eyes stared 
straight ahead — the same psychic phenomena we 
were to note in ourselves, even more accentuated, 
later in the trenches. What a prize we would 
be — to sink the largest ship afloat, with the great- 
est human cargo, 13,000 souls, that ever put to 
sea! 

It was, as it were, an old-time, nerve-racking 
ninth inning at the White Sox grounds ! A clean 
single will tie, a double will beat us. Uncle 
Sam's Navy is in the box; Von Tirpitz's best 
sticker is at the bat. Two strikes have been 
called. What will the next be? 

A sudden hush grips the watching thousands. 
Here it comes — the batter swings with terrific 
force — "Strike three, you're out!" and proudly 
our gallant Armada sweeps into the welcoming 
and sheltering harbor of Brest! 



CHAPTER IV 

BREST— ANCEY-LE-FRANC 
Vive la France! With all the emotion that 
must have thrilled the heart of Lafayette, sail- 
ing up the Chesapeake to Washington's assist- 
ance at Yorktown, we gazed on the rugged coast 
of Brittany. Our convoy alone, if you will, more 
than compensated, in point of number of troops 
at least, for the 20,000 who wore the fleur-de-lis 
at the surrender of Cornwallis. Mere number 
of troops, however, was not the question — it was 
all we then needed. France would, no doubt, 
have sent us more in 1783, even as we would have 
sent more to her in the world war, had there been 
the need. 

Brest was the only harbor along the western 
France coast with sufficient depth of water to 
accommodate the Leviathan; and, inside her 
breakwater, on Sunday, August 10, we dropped 
anchor. 

This harbor and city, with a history rich in 
recorded and traditional lore, antedated the 

46 



Brest — Ancey-le-Franc 47 

Christian era. The Phonecian, the Carthaginian, 
the Roman, and the Frank, had each, in turn, 
left upon its sheltering bay and rock hewn hills 
the impress of his generation. 

Apart and aloof from the beaten paths that 
lead from London to Paris it held, through the 
centuries, "the even tenor of its way." 

Here had the painter ever found color and 
form for his canvas; the romanticist, theme and 
character for his story. In the deep-voiced cav- 
erns of these towering cliffs lived the Pirates of 
Penzance. The solitude of yonder St. Malo in- 
spired Chateaubriand with his immortal "Monks 
of the West"; and Morlix, just east of Brest, 
was, in days of peace, the dwelling place of peer- 
less Marshal Foch. 

By nightfall all the troops had been ferried to 
the wharfs and formed by companies in the rail- 
road yards along the water front. 

Promptly at five o'clock, with headquarters 
troop at the head of the column, Colonel Taylor 
and all officers on foot, we began our march to 
Ponteneuson Barracks. Each of us, on leaving 
the Leviathan, had been rationed with a sand- 
wich. We had hoped to dejeuner on the wharf 



48 The Greater Love 

before beginning the march, but such was not 
our good fortune — the single sandwich was all 
the food — or drink for that matter — we tasted 
until ten o'clock the following morning. 

The march of eight torturous, hill-climbing, 
miles, while exhausting in the extreme, was not 
without interest It brought us within seeing 
and speaking distance of the inhabitants. A 
group of little boys and girls trudged along at 
our side singing what they no doubt believed to 
be our Marseillaise, "Cheer, cheer, the gang's 
all here." The shrill voices of these petit gar- 
cons expressed our only bienvenue to France! 

Their elders, in their quaint Breton Sunday 
costumes, sitting on doorsteps or grouped along 
the roadsides, viewed us interestedly, but quiet- 
ly and without demonstration. Although it was 
the highway used by thousands of American 
troops passing through Brest, we heard no word 
of cheer, nor saw a single banner of welcome in 
those eight weary miles of back torture under 
full packs. 

At nine o'clock we arrived at Ponteneuson. 
Well might this place be called, at least at that 
time, the vestibule of hell! If there is any boy 



Brest — Ancey-le-Franc 49 

of the A. E. F. who has anything good to say — 
or the slightest happy memory to recall — of 
Ponteneuson, I have yet to meet him. 

It was officially called a "Rest Camp" — 
where we might recuperate from our long con- 
finement on shipboard. But if lying hungry 
and cold on the fog-drenched rocks of Brittany, 
with a chill wind sweeping up from the neigh- 
boring ocean, freezing the very marrow of one's 
aching bones, be considered rest, it was a kind 
entirely new to us. 

Lying near me on the chill ground that night 
was Major Winthrop Whittington of Cleveland, 
Ohio, one of the most efficient, kindest and wit- 
tiest of our officers, and who later served as our 
Chief of Staff. Someone had just remarked that 
Napoleon used frequently to come to Ponte- 
neuson. "That explains," quietly remarked the 
Major, "the three-hour sleep theory held by 
Napoleon — (sufficient for any man) ; three hours 
is all any man could sleep in such a hell of a 
place." 

How we survived that night and the following 
six days and nights can only be ascribed to that 
merciful dispensation of God which has carried 



50 The Greater Love 

us through many a trial. Our habitation was 
now the open field, drenched in a dust storm 
that blew constantly. We sat on the roadside 
and ate our meager fare, making joke and jest 
of our utter lack of comfort. 

Immediately adjacent to us was the guard 
house, a prison camp, pitched in the open field, 
and surrounded by barbwire fencing. The only 
shelter these wretched boys had — they were all 
Americans — were holes they had burrowed in 
the ground and little shacks they had con- 
structed from odd pieces of boards they had 
found. Through the days and nights the chorus 
of their angry, cursing voices was borne to our 
ears on the howling wind. 

One day we were hurried into formation and 
sent past the reviewing stand. President Poin- 
care of France was paying us a call. His 
motor car, escorted by an outriding troop of 
French cavalry, and heralded by shrill bugle 
calls, came whirling into our midst on the wings 
of a dust cloud. 

Alighting in front of the improvised review- 
ing stand, he immediately became the center of 
an animated group ; the khaki of our camp offi- 



Brest— Ancey-le-Franc 5 1 

cers mingling with the blue, red and gold of the 
French. No time was lost by the little man in 
black suit and cravat in starting the review. The 
long lines of our doughboys, their rifles, with 
fixed bayonets, flashing and dazzling in the rays 
of the setting sun, swept by like some rushing, 
splashing Niagara torrent. The review was evi- 
dence,, at least, as to our number, stamina and 
equipment. 

The following morning, a full hour before 
the dawn, we were quietly aroused, ordered to 
roll our blanket packs and get into line. Glori- 
ous news! We were on the move, starting for 
our training area and thence into the fighting 
lines! Within forty minutes we were on the 
march, leaving Ponteneuson, as we had entered 
it, under cover of the night. 

Our immediate destination was the railroad 
yards at Brest, where we would find our trains. 
Those wretched days of exposure, lack of food 
and sleep greatly weakened many. Chaplain 
Kerr, who had entered the service with me at 
Governor's Island, New York, died of pneu- 
monia, and was buried at Brest. Although fre- 
quent halts for rest were made, many of the 



52 The Greater Love 

troops fell out and were carried to the First Aid 
Stations. 

How shall I describe the cars that carried our 
boys from the sea coast towns to the fighting 
fronts of France? Each car, plainly marked 
"Hommes 20, Chevals 8," offered equal accom- 
modations for 20 men or 8 horses — especially 
were they equipped for the comfort of horses. 
It was sans air brake and sans spring; and when 
the engineer made up his mind, which he often 
did, to stop that train, he did so in a manner the 
most alarming to aching limbs and weary eyes. 
"Let's go," the soldiers' war cry, rang out along 
the creaking, swaying, grinding train, and we 
were off on our 400-mile journey to the training 
area assigned to our Division somewhere in 
France. 

How we enjoyed, at least, our eyesight on that 
journey! The appeal to the eye was constant — 
the color and form of scenes unfamiliar offering 
views of compelling attraction and delight. 
Each unadorned car window and door became 
the frame of pictures not a Millet nor a Rem- 
brandt could depict 

The villages, their sturdy houses of gray stone 



Brest — Ancey-le-Franc 53 

and red tile roofs; their streets, transformed 
from "routes" to "rules," where country roads 
came to town; their shopping squares stirred to 
enterprise by signs of "Boulangerie," "Bou- 
cherie," "Cafe" and "Menier Chocolat." Tow- 
ering over all, the never-failing church, its lofty, 
cross-surmounted tower, giving to the scene tone 
and character. 

Rolling fields, aglow with harvest gold of 
wheat, oats and rye; orchards, teeming with 
luscious fruit ready to be gathered; rivers, 
threading their silvery way through meadow 
and wood; splendid roads, binding the beauteous 
bouquet of landscape with ribbons of silky white. 

The outstanding feature of that three-day jour- 
ney was the apparent utter lack of enthusiasm on 
the part of a supposedly demonstrative people. 

Waiting at crossroads or railway stations, 
they would look at us in that same quiet, observ- 
ing manner we had noticed at Brest. We passed 
through Morlix, home city of Foch ; Versailles, 
and Sennes ; and at no place did we hear so much 
as a single cheer. There were no welfare work- 
ers at any point, and if "Cafes" were numerous, 
we always paid well for our wine, bread and 
"cafe au lait." 



54 The Greater Love 

Coming from our own beloved America, 
where welfare workers greeted and feted us at 
every station, this apparent lack of hospitality 
more noticeable was difficult to understand. Pos- 
sibly their impoverished condition forbade the 
refreshment part; but cheers and vives are pos- 
sible, even to the poorest! 

Tuesday morning, August 19th, found us par- 
alleling the picturesque river Yonne, which wa- 
ters the vine-clad valleys of Burgundy. The 
sound of big gun firing had reached us in the 
early dawn, and we were all a-thrill at the 
thought of mighty things impending. Vaguely 
the words "Toul," "St. Mihiel," "Verdun," and 
"Metz," had filtered back from the flaming 
front; and, like hounds tugging at the leash, we 
were eager for the fray. 

At high noon we reached the quaint old town 
of Ancey-le-Franc, Department of Yonne. Here 
we left the train and drew up in formation along 
the roads and back through the lanes and fields. 
On the platform of the "gare" our gallant Divi- 
sion Commander, Brigadier General Baarth, at- 
tended by his staff, who had come on ahead of 
us by way of Paris, greeted us warmly and re- 



Brest — Ancey-le-Franc 55 

viewed the troops. We were the first American 
soldiers to enter this area, and the village folks 
of Ancey-le-Franc, Shacenyelles, Fontenoy, and 
Nuites sur Yonne, welcomed us to their humble 
homes, barns and fields where we were to be 
billeted, with simple and cordial hospitality. 



CHAPTER V 

IN BILLETS— DEPARTURE FOR FRONT 
Stepping from the train into the streets of An- 
cey-le-Franc was verily performing a miracle — 
with a single stride we were out of the twentieth 
century and into the eighteenth! We were 
among our contemporary ancestors, far on the 
road to yester century. Not a building under at 
least one hundred years of age — not a street but 
'trodden by the Crusaders of St. Louis — the 
church of St. Sebastian dated 1673; anc * the 
Chateau, founded in 1275, by that hardy old 
Knight of Malta, Duke de Clermont Tonnere. 
With characteristic good humor, ingenuity 
and tact, officers and men adjusted themselves to 
their unusual surroundings, merging into the 
various billets allotted to them, along lines of 
least resistance. By nightfall Buddie owned the 
town ! Meriting it by sheer force of good nature, 
gentlemanly deportment, and a willingness to 
follow the adage of the ancient poet: "Si fueris 
Romae Romano vivite more." 

56 



In Billets 57 

Mine was the rare good fortune of being as- 
signed to No. 10 Rue de Belgrade. Here, 
through many generations, had stood the house 
of Barnicault. Michel Barnicault, present head 
of the family, welcomed me most cordially. He 
felt it indeed an honor to have as his guest Mon- 
seiur le Chaplain, Americaine Soldat! In the 
evening he would sit in front of his venerable 
home, smoking his pipe and looking with pride 
at my Chaplain flag of blue and white that hung 
above the door. 

Petit garcon Andree, aged six years, had al- 
ways considered his Grandfather Michel the 
greatest man in the world; then I came into his 
life; and whether it was I, or the American bon 
bons I lavished on him, or the overseas chapeau 
I let him strut about in now and then, I com- 
pletely won his little heart. Darling little An- 
dree in far off Ancey-le-Franc, now eight going 
on nine, I salute you! 

Monsiegneur le Cure of the village church 
welcomed me cordially. Daily I said Mass on 
the altar of St. Anne. 

As we might go into the front trenches now 
any day, the Chaplains' ministerial work grew 



58 The Greater Love 

apace. "Be ye always ready you know not the 
day nor the hour." Father Martin was with the 
56th Infantry at Molsme; Father Trainor with 
the Machine Gunners at Ceneboy-le-Bas; and I, 
with all other Divisional Units, with Head- 
quarters at Ancey-le-Franc. Three priests 
among 32,000 men, 48 per cent of whom were 
Catholic. The other Chaplains were distributed : 
Chaplain Cohee, Christian, with the 34th Infan- 
try. (Mr. Cohee won the Distinguished Service 
Medal for gallantry under fire at Vieville-en- 
Haye.) Chaplain Hockman, Lutheran, 55th In- 
fantry. Chaplain Webster, Episcopalian, 7th 
Engineers. Chaplain Rixey, Methodist, 64th 
Infantry. Chaplain Evans, Baptist, Sanitary 
Trains. 

At this time we gave an old-fashioned Mis- 
sion in the village church. A choir was or- 
ganized from the Headquarters Troop, and each 
evening we would have Rosary, Sermon and 
Benediction. A special memorandum, signed 
by Colonel Degan, setting forth the purpose and 
advantages of the Mission, was posted through- 
out the District. The villagers likewise attended 
and the church was always filled. At this time, 



In Billets 59 

casting all fear aside, I boldly plunged into my 
first public speaking in French! I felt that 
grand-pere Barnicault and petit Andree would 
at least be on my side in case of a riot. Much to 
my delight the populace greeted my attempt ap- 
provingly and showered me with compliments. 
On Sundays I would say Masses at six and 
eight for the troops, preaching in English. As- 
sisting at the ten o'clock Missa, Cantata Parochi- 
alis was always a source of devotion and unusual 
interest. Promptly at 9:30 the tower bells, in 
triple chime, would ring out, echoing near and 
far, o'er meadow and hill. By path and trail 
and through the cobbled streets would come the 
people — old men and women, white with the 
snows of many winters ; middle-aged women in- 
variably clothed in the black of widowhood- 
France had then been bleeding and dying three 
years— fair-cheeked, dark-eyed modest maidens 
— type of Evangeline of Grand-Pre — handsome 
little boys and girls, the kind with which Raph- 
ael frames his Madonnas. Kneeling for a little 
prayer at the grave sides in the church yard — 
pleasantly exchanging with neighbors the "bon 
jour" and the "bonheur" — they make their way 



60 The Greater Love 

into the church, up the aisles chiseled by Time 
itself, to the pew generations of their name have 
worshiped in. 

Mass is beginning. At the head of the pro- 
cession, emerging from the Sacristy, marches the 
Master of Ceremonies, a venerable man of patri- 
archal mien, clothed in quaint cassock of black 
velvet, richly trimmed with silver braid, reso- 
nantly striking the stone pavement with official 
staff and responding in aged, yet pleasing voice 
to the Gregorian Chant of Celebrant and Con- 
gregation. Handsome little boys — all garcons 
are handsome — in acolytical splendor of purple 
and cardinal, with the daintiest of "calottes," 
come singing their way into your heart in a way 
to delight our own Father Finn of the Paulist 
choristers. The village cure — Monsignor of 
the Diocese of Sens — in those rich full tones that 
centuries of congregational singing have given 
to France, gives voice to the Ceremonial Beauty 
"ever ancient yet ever new." Very little need, 
there, for books; most young and old sing In- 
troit, Credo, Preface and Agnus Dei from mem- 
ory, artistically exact in pronunciation, expres- 
sion and tempo. 



In Billets 61 

If there was distraction for our troops at all, 
it was perhaps at the collection. Not that the 
giving of their centimes or francs was distract- 
ing, rather was it the manner of Collection a la 
Francais. It is taken up by the most handsome 
young ladies of the congregation — our American 
Tag Days were perhaps suggested by it. March- 
ing before the Mademoiselles and striking sharp- 
ly on the pavement with his staff, solemnly 
comeS the aged Master of Ceremonies. No 
prayers so absorbing nor slumber so profound, 
but the anvil clang of his staff will arouse. A 
hand embroidered silken bag is handed to you in 
the most charming manner. What Buddie could 
resist such appeal? 

It was during our days in this area I was ap- 
pointed Division Burial Officer — undertaker for 
the entire Division. The order, duly bulletined, 
at first shocked me — what qualifications had I 
for a work so unusual? However, I promptly 
accepted it for reasons twofold : First, it is not 
the part of a soldier to question the wisdom of 
orders, and, second, anything and everything 
done for Old Glory is an honor. Jealously I 
raided the archives of the Personnel Depart- 



62 The Greater Love 

ment at Headquarters, my "towney" Captain 
Brown of Grand Haven, Michigan, helping me, 
and studied all Orders and Bulletins bearing on 
the subject, "how to identify, register and bury 
the dead." The responsibility was indeed 
weighty and the work vast — to organize, equip 
and drill burial details; to bury our own dead, 
all enemy dead and horses; to assemble per- 
sonal effects and identification tags found on the 
persons of the deceased; to bathe, clothe and 
prepare bodies for burial; to furnish coffins, 
gravediggers, firing squads and buglers. Daily 
report of all burials was to be made to the 
Graves' Registration Service at Chaumont. It 
can easily be realized how important this work 
became as we grew nearer the fighting front. 
On battlefields, drenched with deadly gas, under 
fire and amid conditions and scenes most revolt- 
ing and appalling, the burial parties worked, 
usually in gas masks for protection against odors 
and fumes. 

Physical exhaustion, occasioned by exposure 
at Brest, the fatiguing journey across France, 
and the forced march of many kilometers, under 
full pack, from rail heads to billets, accounted 



In Billets 63 

for the numerous pneumonia cases that now ap- 
peared. In the unsettled, formative condition 
of things, we were not prepared to fully cope 
with the situation. Our nearest United States 
Base Hospital was at Dijon, sixty kilometers dis- 
tant; and to this point it became necessary to 
send such of the seriously ill as could be safely 
transported. Many, however, were too weak to 
undertake such a journey; and, as no suitable 
buildings were available, the situation became 
truly distressing. There was not a single Army 
corps nurse or welfare worker of any sort within 
miles of us, and the critical nature of it all can 
be more readily imagined than described. Our 
doctors and corpsmen of the Sanitary Regiment 
did everything possible and rendered admirable 
service ; but what could even the best intentioned 
do without equipment? On September 5th, I 
took mess with two of our best physicians, Cap- 
tain O'Malley of Mercy Hospital, Chicago, and 
Lieutenant Poole of South Carolina. One week 
later I buried the Lieutenant at Longre, a victim 
of pneumonia, following an illness of but four 
days. 

Four French Sisters of Charity now came 



64 The Greater Love 

most providentially to our assistance. The un- 
just and stupid Association Laws of France had, 
shortly before the war, forbidden them the right 
of teaching. Later they had returned and con- 
verted the old building, their former school, into 
a hospital. With its four spacious classrooms 
and pretty garden in the rear, it easily lent itself 
to the purpose. Under the able direction of 
Doctor Thiery, who was at that time mayor of 
the village, and whose soldier son had been 
killed at St. Quentin, emergency medical and 
surgical cases received there a care that, no 
doubt, saved many lives. Our own Army doctors 
were at once incorporated in this improvised 
hospital's staff, with corpsmen assigned to duty 
in its wards. 

How wonderfully inventive and skillful Love 
becomes under the inspiration of Religion! The 
humble Sisters who, in days of peace, had dedi- 
cated their virgin lives to Education, a spiritual 
Work of Mercy, now, under the stress of war, 
directed those same self-sacrificing energies to 
Nursing, a corporal Work of Mercy, sanctioned 
by Him who is the world's first Good Samar- 
itan. Though not able to utter a single English 



In Billets 65 

word, their kindness spoke eloquently for them 
in those numerous little ways a gentle woman 
has of assuaging pain and soothing even "the 
dull cold ear of Death." The Mother Superior, 
by simply removing two or three pieces of fur- 
niture, converted her office into the hospital 
morgue; and here, assisted by the corpsmen, 
I prepared the bodies of my dear boys for burial. 
How my heart ached to see them die! In the 
loneliness and seclusion of those whitewashed 
classrooms, far removed from any sight or as- 
sociation that spoke of Home; to see the light 
of their lives burn out, and the flowers of Spring 
displaced by the snows of Winter! 

To me their deaths, amid the uninspiring sur- 
roundings of that wayside hospital, took on a 
grandeur and sublimity all surpassing. 

Far easier, indeed, would it have been for 
them to die on field of battle, with cheer of com- 
rades following their flight of soul. That ward 
was a braver field! For there they died bereft 
of all that inspires, and with no pomp or thrill 
of war to make glad their chivalrous souls. 

The village carpenter was never so busy. Re- 
inforcing his working staff, he set speedily to 



66 The Greater Love 

work building coffins. These he made of plain 
pine boards, staining them to a dull brown, and 
furnishing with each a cross and marking stake. 
Thirty-two of these it was my sad duty to pro- 
vide and distribute during our stay in Bur- 
gundy. 

We soon outgrew the old churchyard at An- 
cey-le-Franc ; and the good Cure and Monseiur 
le Docteur Thiery of the local hospital, set aside 
for us ground for another cemetery just outside 
the village. We enclosed this with a white 
picket fence and felt confident, when we 
marched away, that the graves of our brave boys 
there resting, would always be tenderly cared for 
by the devoted people. 

"On Fame's eternal camping ground 

Their silent tents are spread, 
And Glory guards with solemn round 
The bivouac of the Dead." 

At the place of honor, just inside that "God's 
Acre," I buried Sergeant Omer Talbot of Kansas 
City, Kansas, one of the bravest and most be- 
loved of Headquarters Troop, who received the 
last Sacraments, and died in my arms. 



In Billets 67 

Our burials were always religiously attended 
by the villagers. A French veteran would go 
through the streets sounding his drum and giv- 
ing early notice of the burial of an American 
soldier. The people would gather at the church, 
the farmer from the field, the artisan from the 
shop, all dressed as for Sunday. The cure, the 
mayor, the councilmen, the town major, all 
would be present. On foot, bearing flowers, they 
would follow the military cortege to the ceme- 
tery. There, following the Benedictus, the 
mayor would give an impassioned address, ex- 
pressing the profound appreciation of France 
for the service and sacrifice of the gallant Amer- 
ican soldiers. His closing words, repeated and 
echoed through the cemetery by the multitude, 
would be, "Vive FAmerique! Vive Pershing! 
Vive Wilson!" 

Among the most devoted attendants at our 
funerals were Monseiur and Madame Moidrey 
and their beautiful daughter Annette, a girl of 
sixteen years. In rain and shine they came, al- 
ways with flowers most beautiful to place upon 
coffin and grave. 

Returning one day from the cemetery, Mon- 

5 



68 The Greater Love 

seiur respectfully addressed me — "If it would 
please Monseiur le Chaplain to ever visit our 
home (they lived just inside the village in a 
quaint old manor house I had often admired), 
we would consider it an honor indeed to enter- 
tain Monseiur le Chaplain and his friends," then 
naively adding, as if by way of further induce- 
ment, "we have the only piano in the village." 

Now Sergeant Eddie Quinlan, 55th Infantry, 
who came from South Carpenter Street, Chi- 
cago, was one of my best pals. He was then at- 
tending the Field Signal Battalion School at 
Shacereyelles, two kilometers away. I sent word 
to him, directing him to report at my billet the 
following evening accompanied by the ten hand- 
somest doughboys, besides himself, in his pla- 
toon. At the appointed hour and place, the Bud- 
dies were faithfully on hand; and need I add, 
all were from Chicago? How proud I was of 
them, stalwart huskies, well groomed, brown as 
berries, and with muscles of iron. 

"Fellows, if you have no other engagement for 
this evening, would you care to accompany me to 
the Moidrey residence, honored guests of the 
family? They have a piano; and I might add, 



In Billets 69 

a most charming daughter of sixteen summers." 
Here they nearly mobbed me! "Would they 
go?" "Other engagements!" "Say, Father, you 
are not kidding us, are you?" etc., etc! By way 
of information permit me to here observe that 
these boys had been sleeping in fields then for 
two weeks. They had not seen the inside of an 
honest-to-goodness home, nor sat at a dining- 
table with real tablecloth, napkins or plates, 
since they landed in France. Neither had they 
heard a piano, nor been the guest of any lady, 
young or old — well — since they left Camp 
Merritt. Their over-flowing cup of joy, at this 
alluring prospect, can therefore easily be 
imagined. 

As we no doubt would be invited to sing, we 
first rehearsed several popular songs, holding 
forth with a gusto that raised the roof, even of 
the ancient and sturdy house of Barnicault. To 
the air of "Old Kentucky Home," Quinlan tried 
out our latest, A Song of Home : 

You may sing of Erin's Shannon flowing 
softly to the sea, 
The Thames where it passes London 
town; 



70 The Greater Love 

You may boast the bonnie Clyde where it 
mingles with the tide, 
And the Seine with its romance of re- 
nown. 

You may paint in blue the Danube or the 
far Italian Po, 
But of all the streams enshrined in 
memory, 
Is the good old Mississippi, that wherever 
I may go, 
Is the dearest one in all the world to me. 

CHORUS: 

Then sing the song, my comrades, 

O we'll sing this song today, 
That wherever we may roam, we'll sing a 
song of home 

For the dear old Mississippi far away. 

You may boast of Irish Nora, or sweet 

Bessey of Dundee, 
The charm of England's Geraldines so 

fair; 
You may choose the maids of Belgium or 

Ma'm'selles of Picardy 



In Billets 71 

All famed for grace and beauty every- 
where. 
But if you will but listen, and leave the 
choice to me 
I'll point with pride to dear old U. S. A. 
Where there's maidens fair to see, sweet 
and dear as Liberty 
And never cloud o'ershadows beauty's 
day. 

chorus : 

Then sing this song, my comrades, 

O we'll sing this song today, 
That wherever we may roam, we'll sing a 
song of home 
For the maidens fair back home in U. 
S. A. 

A trench mirror four inches by six hung on 
the wall of my billet. There was a mad scram- 
ble for a last facial and tonsorial inspection; for 
each fellow boldly made his boast, "J ust watch 
me, Bo, make the hit of the evening with Ma 
chere Miss Frenchy." 

Down the village street in column of twos 
we made our way. 



72 The Greater Love 

"All gentle in peace and all valiant in war, 
There never was Knight like the young 
Lochinvar." 

As we went singing carefree, secretly my 
heart was sad. As a Staff Officer I knew, al- 
though the boys did not, that this was to be their 
last evening party; that on the morrow they 
were to leave for the front line trenches; that 
many weary days, weeks and months of stern, 
bitter, deadly realities lay just before them; and 
I wanted them to at least enjoy this one last 
evening of home-spun, joyful valedictory. 

The Moidrey residence stood back a little 
from the road, protected by a tall iron fence of 
artistic design. As we drew near, my Minstrel 
Boys prudently "soft pedaled" their singing, so 
as not to over-alarm our kind host. Responsive 
to our sounding the huge brass, lion-headed 
knocker on the massive gate, the house door 
opened. Monsieur, Madame and Mademoiselle 
Annette came down the winding garden path to 
admit and welcome us. 

Introductions followed, formal, gracious and 
charming. Quite true it was that our kindly 
hosts could not speak a word of English, nor the 



In Billets 73 

Buddies of French, at least of French fit to grace 
the occasion. There is a language, however, that 
is not of the tongue, but of the heart. It is ex- 
pressed in the flash, of a love-lit eye; it is felt in 
the pressure of a kindly hand. It is spoken and 
understood the world over and needs no inter- 
preter. This language my boys spoke very flu- 
ently; and our charming hosts did them the 
honor to understand. 

In the parlor was the wonderful piano, 
brought all the way from Paris. Obligingly, 
charmingly, Mademoiselle Annette responded to 
our profuse, overwhelming invitations to play 
first. Sweet and innocent she looked sitting 
there; her cheeks fair as the roses in her garden, 
her eyes, modestly aglow with star light, her 
raven hair in a single braid of ample length, 
neatly adorned with a red ribbon and bewitch- 
ingly tossed over her shoulder. Never was a 
young lady better guarded at a piano ; five stal- 
wart doughboys on either side, jealously turning 
the pages of a sheet of music that was upside 
down. Artistically she played and the loud ap- 
plause that greeted her would have made envi- 
ous our own Fanny Bloomfield Zeisler. 



74 The Greater Love 

Our turn came next. The polite piano from 
Paris fairly groaned beneath the burden of our 
song. It was not used to such boisterous treat- 
ment. Bravely it struggled on "The Long, Long 
Trail A-winding." It galloped "Over There." 
It wailed bitterly "I'm Sorry, Dear," and it did 
its bravest to "Keep the Home Fires Burning." 

When, finally, the barrage of music lifted, we 
made our way to the line of attack at the spacious 
dining-table our hosts had meanwhile spread. 
How good it seemed to sit at a regular table, 
with tablecloth, napkins and silverware! How 
delicious too the sweetbreads, the salad, the 
f romage ; and crowning all, the exquisite service 
of sparkling wine, vintaged in the long ago in 
these famed Burgundian valleys. 

Call to Quarters sounded at 8 145 and "Tattoo" 
at 9 :oo. It was now time to go. Cordially each 
boy thanked our gracious hosts. "And should I 
live a thousand years I'll ne'er forget." Rever- 
ently, gallantly, devotedly, each said bon jour to 
darling Annette. To each she represented wom- 
anhood — beautiful, modest, lovable. Each saw 
visualized in her, as it were, his own mother, sis- 
ter, sweetheart, back home. Would he ever see 



In Billets 75 

his own loved ones again? God only knew. And 
when the last good-bye was said, and the door 
slowly closed and we walked away into the night, 
the bugle call of "Taps" plaintively sounding 
through the quiet streets found sad and mystic 
echo in our souls. 

Our last day in Ancey-le-Franc dawned chill 
and rainy. I breakfasted in the old Chateau 
with Senior Chaplain of the A. E. F., Bishop 
Brent, Episcopal Bishop of Eastern New York 
Diocese, who had journeyed over from Chau- 
mont to visit us. A thorough gentleman and ef- 
ficient officer was the good Bishop; and naught 
but the best and most cordial good will has ever 
characterized our relations. 

It was but a few days subsequent to his visit 
that I received from General Pershing the spe- 
cial orders making me Senior Chaplain of the 
Seventh Division and brevet of Captaincy. For 
this honor I have ever been grateful to Bishop 
Brent and our gallant Division Commander 
General Baarth. 

Although our sojourn with the Burgundians 
had been brief, the conduct of officers and men 
had won universal respect. Genuinely sad the 



76 The Greater Love 

villagers were to see us fall in, that rainy after- 
noon, under marching orders. We had just been 
equipped with gas masks ; and for the first time 
wore our prized chapeaus, the steel helmets. 

Sad was the house , of Barnicault! Petit An- 
dree followed me about, weeping constantly. 
Madame prepared her best omelet and cafe-au- 
lait and Monsieur opened his most prized bottle 
of Burgundy. I left with them many odds and 
ends the zealous merchants back home in the 
States had thoughtfully recommended, but 
which stern Army regulations decried for front 
line use. Trunks were left behind; and all we 
needed we carried in our ever-faithful packs. 
With a last blessing to the dear old couple, kneel- 
ing sobbing at my feet, a last hug from Andree, 
whose fond little arms I had to forcibly release 
from my neck, I put on my helmet, shouldered 
my pack and was gone ! 

The rain fell in torrents; and quickly I took 
position in the long, waiting line. We marched 
at once, taking the road to Neuite-sur-Yonne ; 
and far on our way the old church bells called 
sadly after us in their benison of last farewell. 
We never returned to Ancey-le-Franc ; but to its 
beloved inhabitants we still live, for, 



In Billets 77 

"To live in hearts we leave behind is not to 
die." 

We reached our Rail Head, the main line to 
the regions of Meurthe-et-Moselle, at nine 
o'clock; and struck camp in the yards and fields 
for the night. As the night was chill and our 
camp sufficiently secure from observation, fires 
were kindled by the various companies. Gath- 
ered in their cheering circles of warmth and 
glow, the boys beguiled the hours preceding 
Taps, with jest and song. They sang of love and 
war and God; and through all their melody, as a 
golden thread, could be traced the thought of 
home and of a Great Tomorrow! Gradually, as 
glow of sunset paling in the west, the fires burned 
low; and out of dying embers rose shadowy 
forms that beckoned weary eyes to the land of 
dreams. 

To each sleeping soldier boy 
Magi dreams bring gifts of joy; 
Sweet and pure as mother love 
Brought by angels from above. 

Dreams of home across the sea 
And of scenes loved tenderly, 



78 The Greater Love 

As he left them yesterday 

When he turned and marched away. 

Dreams of mother at the door 
Standing as in days of yore, 
Calling him to come from play 
At the closing of the day. 

Dreams of maiden, boyhood friend, 
Down the road beyond the bend, 
Where the trees made welcome shade 
Trysting place for boy and maid. 

Where he told her of his love 
Pure and true as stars above, 
And she answered with her eyes 
Beautiful as Paradise. 



Dream on, soldier boy of mine, 
May sweet memory entwine 
Love that thrills with hope that cheers, 
Wakening day with yester years ! 
May sweet morrow's dawning beam 
Hallow and make real thy dream. 



In Billets 79 

At midnight as I lay wrapped in my blanket 
beside the fire's expiring embers, Colonel Degan 
came to me and said, "I am leaving you, Chap- 
lain. Good-bye and the best of luck." He was 
on his way to another sector; and although I have 
never seen him since, I still recall him as a splen- 
did soldier and a devoted friend. 

At Units the following morning, I said Mass 
and gave the Sacraments to quite a number of the 
boys. Among these I recall Machine Gunner 
Brady of the 34th Infantry, brother of my 
friend, Father Brady, of St. Agnes Church, Chi- 
cago. 

Meanwhile the waiting trains had been board- 
ed and promptly at noon we rolled away into the 
mysterious Northeast. How good it seemed to be 
once more on the move! The utmost caution was 
now to be observed — no lights on the train at 
night, not even a headlight on the engine. Softly 
the boys sang, 

"We don't know where, we're going. 
But we're on our way." 

In monotone the steel rails seemed to plain- 
tively reply, 



80 The Greater Love 

"Art is long and Time is fleeting, 

And your hearts though stout and brave, 
Still, like muffled drums, are beating 
Funeral marches to the grave." 

Our afternoon hours were given something of 
a thrill in watching the evolutions of a half 
dozen planes, skirmish escort men of the air, fly- 
ing high and wide covering our movements. We 
were now on the division of road operated by 
our own gallant 13th Engineers, of which my 
friend, Sergeant McDowell of Blue Island, was 
Locomotive Inspector. 

Night fell; and the long troop trains like 
monstrous serpents creeping on their prey 
crawled steadily, silently forward into the abys- 
mally black unknown. Slower and more uncer- 
tain they moved, feeling their way; and at mid- 
night came to a final stop at the near approaches 
to No Man's Land. Quickly we detrained and 
took cover in a near-by forest; the empty cars 
trailed off rapidly to the south ; and dawn found 
neither a car nor a soldier in sight. All that day 
we remained hidden in the shadowy solitudes of 
Bois FEvque on the banks of the Moselle. 



In Billets 81 

Beautiful was this softly flowing river, mirror- 
ing azure skies and radiant in the colorful glow 
of early autumn. How hard to realize that death 
lurked in the quietude of its borders; that Man 
had chosen this bosom of shade, tuneful with the 
voice of sweetly calling birds, as a fitting sham- 
bles to slay his fellow men! 

If day for the soldier was for rest, night was 
for the march; and a new dawn found us in the 
sheltering woods of Gonderville on the Toul- 
Nancy highway. 

Turquoise, palest violet, tender green and 
gold, the country lay before us. Then, even as 
we watched from covert, our ears made acquain- 
tance with a new and ominous sound. From an 
infinite distance the morning breeze from the 
north carried with it a deadened thumping 
sound, now regular as the muffled rolling of 
drums, now softly irregular with intervals of 
stillness. It was the dominating monotone of 
cannonading. No need to tell the boys what it 
meant! 

"Guess we're in time for the big show all 
right," Buddie quietly remarked; and from that 
moment an expression overspread his counte- 



82 The Greater Love 

nance and a note crept into his voice I had not 
noticed there before. It was not one of nervous- 
ness, but of seriousness; a clearer vision and ap- 
prehension of big manly things henceforth to be 
done. 

"When I was a boy I lived as a boy; but 
when I became a man I put away the things of 
boyhood and acted the part of a man." 

Boys went into the trenches, but men came out 
of them ! 



CHAPTER VI 

PUVINELLE SECTOR— BOIS LE PRETRE— VIEVILLE 
EN HAYE 

Gallant Pershing was even then maneuvering 
his masterly all-American offensive in the San 
Michel. Our Seventh Division, with the 28th on 
the left and the 92c! on the right, now reached the 
high full tide of martial responsibility; merg- 
ing from the reserve into the attack ; and taking 
its place with the Immortal Combat Divisions 
of proud Old Glory. 

The front line sector, which that night we took 
over, extended in a general westerly direction 
from north of Pont a Musson on the Moselle 
river to Vigneulles — a distance of ten kilometers. 

Approximate positions found the 55th Infan- 
try at Thiacourt, the 64th at Vieville, the 37th 
at Fay-en-Haye, and the 56th at Vilcey-sur- 
Trey, with Machine Gun Battalions distributed 
equally among them. During September, Divi- 
sion Headquarters was at Villers-en-Haye; mov- 

83 



84 The Greater Love 

ing forward in echelon to Noviant and Euvezin 
October 24th. 

Although Villers-en-Haye was mostly in 
ruins, the Sacristy of the village church was in 
good shape, and this I at once occupied. On the 
preceding Sunday, good Father Harmon of Chi- 
cago had said Mass in this church, as a note, fas- 
tened to its front door, announced. 

Thoroughly tired, I spread my blanket on the 
floor and fell quickly to sleep. I dreamed I was 
tied to a railroad track with a train rushing 
towards me. With a start I awoke, just as a siren 
voiced shell came screaming across the fields, 
bursting at the foot of the hill on which the 
church stood. 

The gas alarm was at once sounded and 
every trooper sought refuge in the dugouts. It 
was then half-past eight. At four-minute inter- 
vals and with the most deadly regularity these 
shells came at us for four nerve-racking hours. 

Boom! You could hear it leave the eight- inch 
howitzer six miles away, then in a high tenor 
pitch, it rushed toward you with a crescendo of 
sound, moaning, wailing, screaming, hissing, 
bursting with frightful intensity apparently in 



Puvinelle Sector 85 

the center of your brain. Falling here, there, and 
everywhere in the ruins and environs of the vil- 
lage, mustard gas, flying steel and mortar, levied 
cruel toll on six boys, whose mangled bodies I 
laid away the following afternoon at Griscourt 
under the hill. One of these, I now recall, was 
Corporal Donald Bryan of the 7th Engineers, a 
most handsome and talented young man who, 
before the war, had won fame in the field of 
movie drama. 

"Where were you last night?" inquired gal- 
lant Colonel Cummings of Missouri, our Ma- 
chine Gun Regimental Commander. 

"In the sacristy," I replied. 

"The worst possible place for you!" he ex- 
claimed; "you would find it far safer in a dug- 
out" 

I preferred the sacristy, however, for its con- 
venience to the altar, where I could say daily 
Mass, and so won my point. 

Chaplain and burial work had been mean- 
while growing tremendously. Burial details to 
be organized, equipped and dispatched far and 
wide along the front; conferences with Chap- 
lains; forwarding to them of Departmental Or- 



86 The Greater Love 

ders; receiving their weekly reports, and com- 
piling these in daily reports to the Graves Regis- 
tration Service; with monthly reports to be pre- 
pared for Bishop Brent at Chaumont, Monsi- 
gnor Connolly at Paris, and Archbishop Hayes 
at New York. 

At this time welfare workers joined us and we 
had thirty Y. M. C. A. secretaries under Rev. 
Mr. Todd; eight American Red Cross secreta- 
ries under Mr. Kolinski of Chicago; six Salva- 
tion Army lady secretaries under Adjutant Mr. 
Brown, and ten Knights of Columbus secretaries 
under Mr. McCarthy of Kansas City, who 
joined us at Bouillonville. 

All these workers rendered most valuable and 
devoted service; especially at a time and place 
when we were far afield in ruined shell-swept 
areas, and completely cut off from every vestige 
of ordinary comforts. How good a bar of choc- 
olate, a stick of Black Jack, a "dash" of despised 
inglorious "goldfish" tasted to Buddie, lying 
cold, hungry, dirty and "cootified" in his dugout! 

A distinct contribution to modern civilization, 
and a form of national and international altruism 
making for the betterment, not only of him who 



Puvinelle Sector 87 

receives but as well of him who gives, was or- 
ganized welfare work. The need of such work 
always existed; and the organization of trained 
and equipped auxiliary forces intelligently to 
perform it must have ever been apparent. It re- 
mained for the World War, conceived, at least in 
the American mind in unselfish motive, to create 
and give flesh and blood expression to so Divine 
a vocation; and assign it honored rank among 
National institutions eminently to be desired, 
and, without invidious comparison, devotedly to 
be maintained. 

One day, timing and dodging dropping shells, 
I came to ruined, bombarded Essey. A single 
piece of bread had been my only fare for many 
trying hours and I was hungry to the point of 
exhaustion. 

Above the door of a dugout I saw the welcome 
sign "Salvation Army," and, making my way to 
the door, I knocked. It was at once opened by 
two lady secretaries. 

The savory odor of fresh, crisp fried cakes 
greeted me, and in the center of the room be- 
yond, I saw a table heaped high with the pre- 
cious viands themselves! Truly it was Angel 



88 The Greater Love 

Food! Not the lily-white sort served and known 
as such at home, but the golden ambrosial kind 
angels dream of — and surely were the Salvation 
Army ladies who saved me that day from starv- 
ing, angels. Not only did they kindly point to 
the table of delight and generously say, "Help 
yourself, Chaplain," but Adjutant Brown, hus- 
band of one of them, entering at that moment, 
cheerily remarked: 

"Chaplain, won't you join us? we are just 
sitting down to dinner." 

Having no other dinner engagement just then, 
I accepted! The table was placed under a stair- 
way, just room for the four of us. Outside, the 
air was filled with the spume and shriek of 
bursting shells. The windows were tightly bar- 
ricaded, and a candle, placed in the mouth of a 
bottle, gave the only light. 

"Chaplain, will you offer Grace*?" 

Reverently all four bowed our heads in 
prayer; and may the good God who brought us 
there together, join us some future day in his 
heavenly home above! 

The problem of transportation was most insis- 
tent and difficult. The Division being far below 



Puvinelle Sector 89 

its quota of automobiles and motorcycles, Chap- 
lains and burying details were compelled fre- 
quently to journey on foot, with possible aid 
from some passing truck. 

Under these conditions I found "Jip" truly 
"bonne chance." "Jip" was the horse assigned 
me by my good friend, Lieutenant Davis, of 
Headquarters Troop, and whom I named after 
my faithful dog "Jip" of Harvey. He was a no- 
ble animal, utterly without fear; broken by chas- 
seurs-a-cheval to gun fire. My only comrade 
on many a long, lone ride, we grew fond of each 
other to a degree only he can appreciate who has 
spent days and weeks of solitude and danger with 
a devoted horse. All the pet names and phrases 
"Jip" of Harvey knew, I lavished on him, lean- 
ing forward to whisper in his ear. Although it 
was not the familiar French he heard, it seemed 
to please him, and obediently he bore me on, lit- 
tle heeding the danger of the trail, so that he 
shared my sorrows and pleasures. 

One beautiful day in mid-October, he carried 
me many miles through Bois de Puvinelle, deep 
in whose solitudes, at Jung Fontaine the 20th 
Machine Gun Battalion was camped; passing on 



90 The Greater Love 

our way ruined Martincourt, then heavily 
shelled, to the borders of grim Bois-le-Pretre. 

Before starting on this mission, which had for 
its object inspecting of front line conditions and 
burial work, I had talked over the situation thor- 
oughly with Colonel P. Lenoncle, French Army, 
who, during two years, had fought over every 
foot of Bois-le-Pretre, and won there his Croix 
de Guerre. 

"Monsieur le Chaplain," he said, "this forest 
is a household word for danger and death 
throughout all Germany. I know, in your good- 
ness, you will not fail to bury any of my brave 
poilu whose bodies you there may find." 

Glorious was our canter down the dim leafy 
aisles of the Bois oak, maple, ash, and pine 
flamed with the glorious coloring of autumn. 
Crimson ivy festooned each swaying limb, weav- 
ing canopies against a mottled sky of blue and 
white; morning-glories nodded greeting from 
the hedges, while forest floors were carpeted 
with the red of geranium, yellow of marigold 
and purple of aster. 

Through the winding tunnel of foliage "Jip" 
was keenly alert. He seemed, with his good 



Puvinelle Sector 91 

horse sense, to feel that he was carrying a very 
well-meaning but inexperienced Chaplain, more 
interested perhaps in things botanical and floral 
than military. When I, for example, showed in- 
clination to dismount and inspect a beautiful 
saddle lying by the roadside, it was evidently a 
German officer's, "Jip," with ears back, snorted 
and galloped furiously past. A veteran ser- 
geant afterwards quietly remarked : 

" 'Jip' likely saved you that time, Chaplain, 
from a 'planted' bomb, for which that saddle was 
the bait." 

Evening found us at the near approaches of 
Saint Marie farm. As the area from this point 
forward was drenched with gas, and therefore 
no place for "Jip," who stubbornly refused to 
wear his mask, I decided to leave him and con- 
tinue forward on foot. Making my way to a 
dugout, then Company Headquarters of the gal- 
lant 19th Machine Gunners, I happened upon a 
young gunner named Costigan. 

"Will you look after 'Jip' for me, Buddie?" 

"I will be glad to, Father," he replied. "Your 
sister used to be my teacher in the Ogden school, 
Chicago!" 



92 The Greater Love 

How small the world was! To find that Bois- 
le-Pretre was just around the corner from Chest- 
nut and North State Street! 

Grim and terrible, however, was the work 
just ahead. Entering that forest was like going 
into some vast fatal Iroquois Theatre saturated 
with death-dealing gas. It was even then being 
swept by a tornado of screaming, bursting shells, 
scattering far and wide fumes of mustard and 
chlorine, a single inhalation of which meant un- 
speakable agony and death. But our brave boys 
were there with souls to be prepared, and poor 
mangled bodies were there, reverently to be 
buried! 

It was supreme test for the gas mask! That 
frail piece of rubber alone stood between us 
and death. The slightest rent or leakage would 
be fatal, as injury to the suit of the deep sea 
diver. These masks had been issued in sizes 3, 4 
and 5. Some fitted better than others; others 
bound painfully about the temples. We had been 
trained to adjust them quickly from "alert" to 
the face in seven seconds, and woe to him who 
breathed before the clasp was on his nose, the 
tube in his mouth, or the chin piece properly 



Puvinelle Sector 93 

in place. Under ordinary conditions, they were 
supposed to filter the poisonous air for thirty-six 
hours. It was extraordinary conditions, how- 
ever, rising either from faulty adjustment, rub- 
ber strain, or mechanical injury that usually 
proved their undoing. 

On that October day I had remained in the 
gas waves but four hours and felt I had escaped 
without injury. Such, however, proved not my 
good fortune. My mask had evidently not func- 
tioned properly and that night of torture to body, 
head and eyes was accounted for in the sim- 
ple words of the kind Doctor Lugar: 

"Chaplain, you are gassed." 

A few days' nursing and care at the Field Hos- 
pital restored strength and vigor needed for a 
new and even more interesting encounter. 

On the afternoon of Sunday, October 25th, I 
had held services at three o'clock in a dugout at 
Vieville-en-Haye. Carefully hidden in a forest 
immediately south of this village were then lo- 
cated three of our large guns. The boys had 
proudly named them, "President's Answer," 
"Theda Bara" and "Miss McCarthy." They 
were throwing high explosive shells along the 



94 The Greater Love 

Metz highway. The enemy was frantically re- 
plying with eight-inch Howitzers from points 
some six kilometers north, dropping shells at 
two-minute intervals into Vieville-en-Haye and 
its environs. 

As there was much gas along this front, I had 
left "Jip" at home and was using a Harley-Da- 
vidson cycle side-car Lieutenant Trainor of 
Headquarters had kindly loaned me — further 
giving me daring Corporal Plummer of Aurora, 
one of the most skillful of his chauffeurs. 

Following the services our next work was a 
trip to Vilcey-sur-Trey, some four kilometers 
away, at the eastern approach of Death Valley. 
Emerging from the dugout our plans were 
quickly outlined. Taking advantage of the reg- 
ular two-minute intervals between falling shells, 
we planned to first let one come over, then make 
a quick dash up the front street and get out into 
the shelter of Death Valley before the next one 
fell. 

Rev. Mr. Muggins, Y. M. C. A. secretary, a 
very estimable and highly respected man, shook 
his head. 

"Chaplain, you can hardly make it." 



Puvinelle Sector 95 

"How about it, Corporal?" I said to Plum- 
mer. 

"Sure, we can make it," he replied. 

"Let's go," I said, and quickly slid into the 
side car. 

We let a shell come over, saw where it burst, 
then dashed up the street. Skillfully avoiding 
heaps of brick and mortar scattered along the 
way, quicker than it takes to tell, we traversed 
two blocks and reached a point just opposite the 
ruined church. Here we rushed full into an 
ugly crater, our machine fouled and our way 
was blocked! 

We knew a German gun across those fields was 
even then trained on this spot and would pay its 
respects in about one minute. Plummer tried to 
kick and shake life into the machine; I did the 
praying. Just before lay ruins of the old 
church. I thought of the countless times Holy 
Mass had been offered there, and humbly I asked 
God to spare me and my boy, to turn aside from 
us the stroke of death — but, 

"Not my will but Thine be done." 

"Boom !" Across the fields came the sickening 
report! Ordering Plummer to throw himself 



96 The Greater Love 

to the ground, I was in the act of alighting, 
and was partly free of the machine, when the 
shell burst, about one hundred feet away. My 
right arm seemed to burn; but I was alive, and 
flat on the ground. Breathlessly we waited, like a 
boxer in his corner, until the next shell came 
over. This struck about a block away. At once 
we sprang to our feet and rushed into the shelter 
of Death Valley. Plummer was unhurt; but I 
was slightly bleeding from right arm and left 
leg. They were but scratches ; and most humbly 
I thanked God for sparing us. 

"Well, Chaplain, they winged you this time,'* 
said good Captain Cash, Abilene, Texas, Medi- 
cal Corps, when I reported. My right forearm 
was broken, but nothing serious enough to make 
me an ambulance case. 



CHAPTER VII 

THE GREATER LOVE 

I never recall those really worth while times 
without being reminded of a certain Lieutenant 
whose name I do not feel at present free to re- 
veal. The attending circumstances were so deep- 
ly pathetic, and his confidence in me of a nature 
so sacred, I will but narrate the details without 
divulging his identity. 

Handsome, generous, brave, highly competent 
in military art, he was as skillful in getting ac- 
tion from his giant gun as he was masterful in 
evoking music from his violin ! If there was any- 
thing his platoon boys admired more, even than 
himself, it was the music of his ever generous, 
ever delighting violin. Deep in some dugout we 
would gather around him. Tenderly and fondly 
he would take the instrument from the battered 
box, patting it like a young mother her baby's 
cheek. 

Beginning with some light popular air in 
which all would vocally join, he would soon 

97 



98 The Greater Love 

glide like a spirit of melody to the unprofaned 
height of the music masters. Bach was his fa- 
vorite. And when, with the mute, to soften the 
waves from unfriendly ears, he would interpret 
some symphony of the soul, we would forget our 
grim surroundings and dream we "dwelt in mar- 
ble halls." 

He knew my passionate fondness for music 
and took delight in pleasing me. What pictures 
he could paint on the canvas of my fancy! Under 
the spell of his music I would drop anchor in the 
harbor of the fairest dream. Now, it would be 
a landscape the brush of his bow would paint — 
a midsummer day with sheep gently grazing on 
some hillside : again, it would be a forest, with 
treetops cowering before an on-rushing storm. 

One evening he was playing with the mute on 
"Humoresque." His big brown eyes, that were 
not the least attractive feature of his handsome 
face, looked steadily into mine across the bridge 
of his violin. 

"What is the picture tonight, Chaplain?" 

"I see a coast," I replied; "it is a fair summer 
day, with waves of all blue and silver, dancing 
in the breeze. A yacht is just off shore ; the sail, a 



The Greater Love 99 

creamy bit. of color; at the tiller a chap, hand- 
some as yourself, and at his side a girl" — here he 
stopped playing and looking intently at me ex- 
claimed: 

"Why, that's the very thing. I was thinking of 
myself 1" 

Laying aside the violin he drew from his kit a 
bundle of letters tied with ribbon. Delightedly, 
radiantly, he showed me her picture — yes, her 
pictures, for surely he had twenty of them. Then 
he narrated "the sweetest story ever told"; how 
wonderful she was, how tenderly he loved her, 
how they had sacredly promised to marry on his 
return, and planned to seek their young fortunes 
in South America. 

The days following were filled with big thrill- 
ing events. The ebb and flow of battle called 
into action all that was best and noblest in the 
boys, and my Lieutenant served his Battery and 
wrought deeds of valor to a degree all excelling 
and inspiring. I knew the secret of it all, it was 
the thought of her, his promised wife, and of the 
bliss awaiting a gallant soldier's return. 

It was just one week later the letter came. Few 
received mail that day; he was one who did. My 

7 



100 The Greater Love 

attention was first called to him by the sound of 
a moan that seemed to come from a heart utterly 
broken. He stood leaning against a caisson star- 
ing at the letter, his face deathly white. Instinc- 
tively I realized it all. It was from her, and its 
message was as some stroke of lightning from a 
cloudless sky. Mutely he came to me, pressed 
the letter in my hand, and turned away. 

A glance through its lines told me the worst; 
that while she admired his courage and unsel- 
fishness more than any man in the world, and al- 
ways would, still, as she did not, could never, 
love him as she felt a wife should love her hus- 
band, would he now release her and give up their 
engagement! 

Knowing him as I did, noble, unselfish, and 
devotedly, tenderly loving her with all his soul, 
most deeply did I pity him. It was the supreme 
hour and crisis of his life. If there were ever a 
time when he needed her love to sustain him, 
when day and night he grappled with death and 
fought with all his soul, as only the patriot can 
fight, it was now. 

It was the beginning of the end. Sub-con- 
sciously I sensed impending tragedy, and was de- 



The Greater Love 101 

pressed beyond expression. Not indeed that he 
became morose, ugly or unsoldierly. On the 
contrary, never was he more attentive to Battery 
duties or considerate toward his men. Bravely 
would he laugh and jest and try to appear happy; 
but I knew it was all merely heroic endeavor, and 
that his heart was utterly broken. If he gave ex- 
pression to his loss at all it was through his vio- 
lin. It was all in a minor strain, and its notes 
were of the soul of one 

"Who treads alone, 

Some banquet hall deserted: 
Whose lights are fled, and garlands dead, 
All, all save he departed." 

It was the afternoon of ten days later. In an 
orchard on a hillside his Battery had just come 
into position. By some alert enemy-observing 
plane the movement had evidently been noted, 
for it was not seven minutes later that a high ex- 
plosive shell came screaming over the hill, di- 
rectly hitting his gun, instantly killing gunner 
No. i, and mortally wounding himself. 

Ten minutes later I reached his side. He was 
still conscious, had received First Aid, but was 



102 The Greater Love 

sinking rapidly. "I am not afraid to die, Chap- 
lain. It's my turn I guess. There is a letter here 
in my blouse pocket. I wrote it to her the other 
night. Read it, will you please, and if it is all 
right, post it for me when I am gone." 

Blinded with my tears I carefully took the let- 
ter from his pocket. It was wet with his heart's 
blood. I do not now recall its every word, but 
in substance, it released her. "My Duchess" was 
the endearing title at the top of the page. It de- 
clared his deep, abiding love for her: a love so 
unselfish and complete as not wanting to ever, 
either directly or indirectly, mar her happiness. 
In life and death her memory would continue 
to be the one supreme inspiration of his life. As 
she requested, he had burned the letters, retain- 
ing but one, stained with a rose she had once 
given him. 

"Oh my boy! I am proud of you," I cried, 
when I finished reading. "If it is all right, Chap- 
lain, please post it when I am gone." 

The deathly pallor of his face warned me the 
end was near. Though not directly of my faith, 
he had often remarked his preference, for my 
ministrations; and with all my soul I helped 



The Greater Love 103 

him make Acts of Faith, Hope, Charity, and 
perfect Contrition. Gently his eyes closed, his 
head fell forward on my breast, and his brave 
sweet spirit passed to its Maker. 

Kneeling around, with tears seaming their 
ashen battle-stained faces, were his boys. Ten- 
derly they helped me carry his poor torn body 
to the shelter of a neighboring ravine. On the 
hillside we buried him, marking his grave with 
the Sign of Him who shall remember the Brave, 
the Pure, the Good. 

I posted the letter, as he requested, enclosing it 
all, as it was blood-stained, in another envelope. 
1 have forgiven, as he would have me do, the in- 
considerate action of the girl who brought such 
sorrow to the supreme hour of his sacrifice. Some 
day, when the wounds of cruel war are healed, I 
may forget. And yet, reviewing it all in the 
light of the supernatural and the greater reward 
awaiting him beyond the stars, may we not be- 
lieve that an all-wise, ever-merciful Father per- 
mitted this crowning sorrow of his young life 
that it might be but opportunity, humbly and 
prayerfully endured, of a soul-cleansing nature, 
and add luster to his reward of the Greater 
Love through eternal years! 



CHAPTER VIII 

THIACOURT— AERIAL DARING 

"Where are you saying Mass next Sunday 
Chaplain?" 

"In Thiacourt," I replied. 

Just the shadow of a doubt flitted across the 
handsome face of Colonel Cummings, who nev- 
ertheless promptly responded, "All right, I'll be 
there." 

That Mass could safely be said in such a ver- 
itable inferno as Thiacourt November ist of- 
fered very reasonable room for doubt. Located 
but a single kilometer from the front line 
trench, its ruins were shelled by day, and air 
bombed by night, with daring Fokers and 
Taubes finding rare sport in spraying its main 
street with machine gun fire. 

The gallant boys of the 55th Infantry, nine 
hundred of whom came from Chicago, were 
then bravely holding that death-swept point; and 
I was determined to bring them the consolation 

104 



Thiacourt — Aerial Daring 105 

and strength of Religion in their supreme need. 

Dawn was breaking that Sunday morning 
when I rode through Bouillonville. Leading 
north from this village the road leaves the shelter 
of a friendly hill and plunges boldly across the 
open plain. Our Batteries were firing constantly 
from every available angle of the hills, and the 
enemy's spirited reply made very heavy the din 
of gun fire. In all directions, on roadside, field 
and hill, geysers were rising, and yawning yel- 
low craters forming from the impact of bursting 
shells. 

It was seldom I urged "Jip" out of a canter. 
This morning, however, things were different. 
The road through the open plain lay full in view 
and range of eagle-eyed enemy snipers. 

Across the pommel of the saddle, in front, was 
fastened a bag of oats; and behind, my Mass kit. 
Tightly I strapped on my steel helmet, with gas 
mask tied at "alert." 

Leaving the shelter of the hill I leaned for- 
ward and spoke to "Jip." "Allez! Allez! Mon 
petit cheval!" Right bravely he responded. With 
ears back, and raven mane and tail streaming to 
the breeze, he fairly hurled himself forward 



106 The Greater Love 

across the death-swept plain. His speed and 
courage stood between me and eternity. 

It is not easy for even the best sniper to hit 
such a fast moving horse. At a point two hun- 
dred yards to the right of us burst a huge shell. 
To just the slightest degree "Jip" trembled, but 
with never a break of his even flying stride. 
"Thank God!" was my heartfelt prayer as we 
reached the ruined mill at Thiacourt. 

Quickly dismounting I led "Jip" deep into the 
rear of a building whose front was shot away. 

O how I hugged and patted that brave little 
horse; and from the manner he pawed the 
ground and rubbed his nose against my side I felt 
he fairly thrilled with the pride of his race with 
death. For your sake, my brave little "Jip," I 
will never be unkind to a horse as long as I live. 

Rewarding him with an extra ration of oats, 
and leaving him secure from gas, I proceeded 
forward on foot. 

Shrapnel was bursting all about, and its sharp, 
sizzling echo, against walls still standing, made 
maddening din. 

Dodging from building to building up the de- 
serted front street I reached a point opposite the 



Thiacourt — Aerial Daring 107 

Hotel de Ville in time to see the front of a build- 
ing one hundred yards to the left blown com- 
pletely out by a bursting shell. The church was 
but a heap of smoking ruins. 

In the courtyard of a large building, that a 
few days before was headquarters of the German 
staff, I was welcomed by boys of the 55th Infan- 
try. It was a platoon in command of Lieutenant 
Coughlan of Mobile, Alabama. 

This gallant young man, nephew of Capt. 
Coughlan who sailed with Dewey into Manila 
Bay, was every inch a hero. Just the day before 
he had held a front sector against terrible odds 
when the platoon on his right had fallen back 
under heavy gas attack with its commander mor- 
tally wounded. In this encounter Coughlan 
was badly gassed himself, and could not speak 
above a whisper. "I know the Latin, and can 
serve your Mass all right, Chaplain, if you can 
stand for my whispers." 

An altar was improvised out of a richly 
carved sideboard standing in the courtyard. Af- 
ter a goodly number had gone to Confession, a 
crowd of some two hundred assembled for the 
Mass. At this moment Colonel Cummings, true 



108 The Greater Love 

to his word that he would be on hand, strode into 
the yard. 

The boys knelt around, wearing their steel hel- 
mets, and with masks at "alert." My vestments 
consisted simply of a stole worn over my cas- 
sock. Helmet and mask lay easily within reach 
at one side. The firing, meanwhile, was terrific 
— high explosive shells shrieking overhead and 
bursting on every side. Rifle and machine-gun 
bullets added their shrill tenor notes to the or- 
chestral wail of gun fire. 

I had prepared a sermon, but, amid such din, 
I, for a moment, questioned the possibility and 
even propriety of delivering it. I decided in 
the affirmative, and raised my voice in challenge 
to the wild clamor of death. 

As I looked upon the battle-stained faces be- 
fore me, I felt how pleasing it all must have been 
in the sight of Him who feared not Death of old, 
and who said on the hills of Galilee: "Greater 
love than this no man has, that he give up his life 
for his friends." 

Mass over, the boys quickly disappeared into 
neighboring dugouts. Colonel Cummings was 
greatly pleased with it all, remarking, "As soon 



Thiacourt — Aerial Daring 109 

as you began Mass, Chaplain, the gun fire 
seemed to ease a bit, and a comparative zone of 
quiet prevailed where we were gathered." 

"I shall know after this, Colonel," I laughing- 
ly replied, "what is bringing you to Mass — to get 
into a zone of quiet!" Permit me to add here, 
however that the good Colonel needed no urging 
to attend Mass. I never met a better Christian 
overseas nor a more gallant loyal comrade than 
Colonel Cummings. 

The remaining hours of that day were spent in 
ministering to the living and burying the dead. 
Along that battle swept front the Chaplain was 
always gladly welcomed and his divine Message 
reverently received. Death in its thousand ghast- 
ly forms, ever impending, ever threatening, im- 
pressed with serious religious thought the con- 
sciousness of even the most careless. In direct 
proportion to the coming and going of danger 
was the ebb and flow of the tide spiritual. 
"Haven't you noticed, Chaplain, an improve- 
ment in my language of late? I sure have been 
trying to cut out swearing." Often would some 
officer or enlisted man — of any or no church 
membership — so remark, and who had hitherto 
been prone to sins of the tongue. 



110 The Greater Love 

On such occasions two thoughts would come 
to me — the reflection of Tertullian that "The 
soul of man is by nature religious ;" and the ad- 
monition of Ecclesiastes 7:40, "Remember thy 
last end and thou shalt never sin." Far into that 
All Saints night I heard Confessions, and was 
edified with the large number who approached 
Holy Communion All Souls morning. 

In burial work, we always made it a poinf, 
where it was at all possible, to bury the enemy 
dead as reverently as our own. We would gather 
their poor shell-torn bodies, often in advanced 
stages of decomposition, and place them in 
graves on sheltered hillsides, safe from gun fire, 
carefully assembling in Musette bags their be- 
longings, which we would forward to the Pris- 
oner of War Department. One day, while so as- 
sembling the scattered remains of four dead 
Germans, evidently killed by the same shell, one 
of our boys of the 34th Infantry, Sam Volkel by 
name, who before the war lived in my old parish 
at Harvey, passed by. This good boy's parents 
had been born in Germany. When he saw the 
reverent care we were giving those four of the 
enemy dead, he came up to me and with tears 



Thiacourt — Aerial Daring 111 

streaming down his smoke and dust-covered face 
exclaimed, "Father, God bless you." 

"De mortuis nil nisi bonum" is a principle of 
conduct dating back to Him who of old de- 
clared burial of the dead a corporal work of 
mercy. It is the mark, neither of the Christian 
individual nor nation, to disrespect a body nor 
desecrate its resting place. The fact that in life 
it was tenanted by the soul of an enemy is no jus- 
tification for dishonoring it; for He who is Infi- 
nite Truth and Justice declares "Love thy 
enemy; do good to those who hate you, and bless 
those who persecute you." This, of course, is 
not the way of the world ; but is the way of Him 
whose standards of living must guide our lives, 
and whose will to reward or punish us shall pre- 
vail through Eternity. 

We had now been many weeks at the extreme 
front on minimum ration of all things bearing 
on bodily comfort or mental relaxation. Water 
was but a word, a memory, cherished dream of 
him who wrote "The Old Oaken Bucket." If 
we could but find enough of the chlorinated 
drug store kind to nourish our canteen, we were 
prepared to dispense with the common, or laun- 
dry serving, variety. 



112 The Greater Love 

In the eternal fitness of things, there came now 
into being an Army institution, officially known 
as the Delousing Station. It appears to have 
been named in memory of a certain small wing- 
less insect. There was an appeal to it that at 
once caught the popular fancy of the soldiers, 
always itching for novelty, and it became the 
most frequented of watering places. It was a 
thoroughly democratic affair, officers and enlist- 
ed men freely approving and patronizing it, 
under the undenying impulse, no doubt, of a 
common human need. It little mattered that its 
location was usually the wreckage of some wind- 
swept barn; or that its furniture consisted of a 
barrel of water jauntily poised on the rafters; 
the spectacle of Buddie, bar of soap in hand, 
sporting and splashing in the limpid stream of 
that miniature Niagara, offered wealth of theme 
for the inspired artist, poet, and writer of com- 
mercial advertising. 

I greatly wonder that the hallowed memory of 
this loving institution has so far escaped the pop- 
ular fancy as to be left "unwept, unhonored and 
unsung." That it was inspirational might be 
shown from the case of a boy of the 64th Inf an- 



Thiacourt — Aerial Daring 113 

try changing the words of the popular song, 
"They go wild, simply wild, over me," to "They 
run wild, simply wild, over me." 

Huts designed to offer any manner of mental 
relaxation, reading, music, and the like, were 
necessarily many miles to the rear. No sound 
but gun fire was ever to be heard. No matin 
bugle call of Reveille to rouse, nor plaintive note 
of Taps to "mend the ravelled sleeve of care." 
No regimental band to "soothe the savage 
breast," nor lead to the charge in the way it is 
described in books of history. 

No lights to show from dugout or trench, not 
even on motor cars or cycles dashing along 
treacherous roads and trails. If mess and water 
carts could be kept in touch with advanced posts, 
the mail and welfare supply trucks could be dis- 
pensed with. 

Days and weeks would pass without so much 
as sight of a letter, newspaper, book, or word 
from the rear of any kind. Such times were 
like living in the bottom of a well, glimpses of 
the sky overhead, but all around you, dark, foul, 
and deathly. 

Amid such surroundings our chief pleasure 



114 The Greater Love 

and relaxation was often the sky. Reclining in 
the soft yielding mud we could watch the can- 
vas of the heavens, stretched from horizon to 
horizon, in panoramic splendor. Whether it 
was the hour of the "powerful king of day re- 
joicing in the east," the mid-day brooding calm, 
or when "Night folds her starry curtains round," 
the ever-changing, ever-beautiful pictures of 
cloudland lulled to rest our fancies sweet as mu- 
sic which 

"Gentler on the spirit lies 
Than tired eyelids upon tired eyes." 

How thrilled we were when cloudland be- 
came of a sudden peopled with armed men! 
When that azure blue became an ocean, with 
ships of the air scudding in and out of cloudy 
coves, around billowy headlands, "zuming," 
spiraling, volplaning, maneuvering for position 
to hurl broadsides of death. 

It was all, as it were, a tournament staged for 
our amusement. Herald of its beginning would 
be a splash of white against the blue above the 
German lines. Faintly, then with steadily in- 
creased volume in tone, would come to our ears 



Thiacourt— Aerial Daring 115 

the unmistakable high tenor engine trum of a 
Foker plane. 

All eyes would intently watch its approach. It 
was coming over to deal death or destruction of 
some sort, possibly to attack our anchored ob- 
serving balloon, just to the rear. 

Seconds as well as minutes count in such an 
adventure, and quicker than the eye can count 
them, puffy balls of white appear above, below 
and all around on the on-rushing Foker; they 
are the shrapnel bursts of our vigilant anti-air- 
craft guns that have now opened briskly from 
every hill and forest. 

On it comes! — and now black puffs appear in 
its path, the dynamite shells of our guns finding 
their range. Boom! boom! rat-ta-tat-boom-rat- 
ta-tat is the music that greets our ears and every 
hill is a tremble under the shock of thousands of 
rounds of fire. 

In such an emergency our orders are clear. We 
must remain perfectly motionless: we will not 
be seen unless we move about. We must not fire 
at him; he must know neither our location nor 
what arms we have. 

The tons of steel being hurled into the air must 

8 



116 The Greater Love 

meanwhile fall in splinters to the earth. Here 
is where our steel helmets prove so serviceable, 
protecting the head not only from falling splin- 
ters, but from bullets of the machine gun the Fo- 
ker flyer is now vigorously firing earthward. 

Now a new and welcome sound greets our 
eyes. Coming on the wings of the wind out of 
the south is the strong deep bass of Liberty Mo- 
tor music — the ail-American made — which, 
though arriving in quantity late in the war, 
proved at once its superiority to all others. Our 
ground guns have driven the Foker high into the 
air; which, evidently noting that the on-coming 
ships are merely observing and not fighting 
planes, comes steadily on! 

How vividly I recall that stirring afternoon! 
We were on a hillside, just above Thiacourt, di- 
recting the work of a burial detail. As the Fo- 
ker reached a point directly over us he dove full 
in our direction. There was nothing for us to 
do, no shelter to take refuge in, just an unpro- 
tected slope of the hill. 

Whether it was the fact that we were a burial 
party and he wished to spare us — and this ex- 
planation I like to believe — or whether, by fir- 



Thiacourt — Aerial Daring 117 

ing on us, he might betray his presence, and thus 
defeat his main purpose, which was to destroy 
the balloon anchored in the neighboring valley, I 
will never know; but this I do know — at a point 
Hirectly above us, and where he could most easily 
have killed us with machine gun fire, he sud- 
denly changed his course. 

Gliding down the valley, he raced full upon 
the observing balloon and hurled incendiary 
shells into it, setting it on fire; then, coming 
about, he dashed away to the north, escaping 
over his own lines amid a shower of leaden hail! 
"Ill blows the wind that profits-no one" — the po- 
sition of undertaker, we at first hesitated in ac- 
cepting, had saved our life; burial boys were, 
after this, more reconciled than ever to their 
work! 

Air craft battles, although of frequent occur- 
rence along our front, were always watched with 
keen delight. Our fliers were chiefly of the 108th 
Squadron from the fields of Toul and Colom- 
bey-le-Belles. 

It was in our area, on the banks of the Moselle, 
that the heroic and gallant Lufberry fell, fight- 
ing, to his death. He is buried in the little ceme- 



118 The Greater Love 

tery of Evacuation Hospital No. i, near Toul. 

Eddie Rickenbacker, Reed Landis, Tuper 
Weyman, Elmer Crowel, Bernard Granville, 
Douglas Campbell, these and others were the 
gallant Aces of our Army, flying and fighting 
daily over the front. 

On September twenty-eighth Douglas Camp- 
bell fell in flames at Pannes. In the cemetery of 
the old church there he is buried. It was with 
special interest we cared for his grave, inasmuch 
as his home was in Kenilworth, near our own 
Chicago. 

Infantry contact flying was necessarily hazard- 
ous. It meant flying at an elevation easily in 
reach of rifle fire. 

Usually at mess, the evening before, the flyer, 
chosen for this mission, would be notified. His 
companions, too, would hear of the selection; 
and often indulged, in their own grim humor- 
ous way, of reminding him of the fact! The man 
next to him at the table would softly and weirdly 
hum a strain from Chopin's Funeral March, set- 
ting its music to the solemn words, "Ten thou- 
sand dollars going home to the States!" 

It was this trait in Buddie's character, how- 



Thiacourt — Aerial Daring 119 

ever, ability to make the best of things, to see the 
smooth and not the seamy side of Death's mantle, 
that made him the most intelligent, cool, and re- 
sourceful of all fighting men. His buoyancy of 
disposition and resiliency of spirit gave him a 
self-confidence and initiative that made him rise 
superior to all hardship, and, as it were, com- 
pelled circumstances to side with him. 

The ioth Field Signal Battalion, commanded 
by the brilliant and big-hearted Major Gustav 
Hirch of Columbus, Ohio, was a favorite ren- 
dezvous of mine. The nature of work of these 
Signal men appealed to me; and their nomadic 
habits co-ordinated happily with my duties, fre- 
quently requiring me, along the changing front, 
"to fold my tent with Arabs and silently steal 
away." 

They had direct charge of the Intelligence 
Maintenance of War work, and constituted the 
axes of liaison between the various Units of the 
Division. 

Their skill in the transmission of messages was 
most remarkable. Masking their operations in 
the language of secret signs and ciphers, they 
made use of the telephone, telegraph, radio, wig- 



120 The Greater Love 

wag, panel, carrier pigeon, blinker, and last, and 
perhaps most dependable of all, the living run- 
ner. The duty of the latter consisted in carrying 
messages to or from exposed positions when no 
other means would do. Usually a volunteer from 
any branch, he was selected because of courage, 
agility and ability to get through somehow, no 
matter how great the opposing odds. I was 
present in an Observation Post near Jolney talk- 
ing to Colonel Lewis, when a runner came rush- 
ing across No Man's Land through a leaden hail, 
saluted, handed a message to Captain Payne, and 
fell unconscious at his feet. There were no 
greater heroes of the war. 

Operators and linesmen "carried on" under 
conditions demanding the greatest courage — re- 
maining to the last in exposed positions like the 
wireless heroes of a sinking ship. I have known 
lines to be shelled and blown to pieces a dozen 
times during the day, and just as often repaired 
by daring linesmen. 

Frequently sharing their mess and dugouts, I 
cultivated the friendship, not only of their gen- 
erous Commander, but of Captain Cash, of Abi- 
lene, Texas; Captain Jim Williams, of Troy, 



Thiacourt — Aerial Daring 121 

Alabama; and Lieutenant Phillips of Brooklyn, 
New York — three of the most beloved of sol- 
diers. Lieutenant Andy O'Day, of Detroit, also 
with them, was heavily gassed at Jolney. 

Attached to the Battalion, too, was a brilliant 
young man, Lieutenant D'Orleans, French Army. 
He was from Brittany, had won the Croix de 
Guerre, and spoke English, if not fluently, at 
least interestingly. 



CHAPTER IX 

REMBERCOURT 

On Saturday night, November ninth, I had re- 
paired to my dugout near Boullionville, plan- 
ning to say two Masses at distant points the fol- 
lowing morning. I retired early to snatch a lit- 
tle rest. 

At midnight, Lieutenant D'Orleans rushed 
into the dugout and roused me, hoarsely whis- 
pering, — "Chaplain, a big movement is oh!" 

Rolling from my blanket I hurried outside. 
The night was intensely dark; but there, in the 
valley before me, I could make out a long col- 
umn of troops. 

For some days there had been growing signs 
and vague hints of a big attack impending. Was 
this its beginning? 

Reporting at once to the head of the column, 
I found Colonel Lewis and Major Black. The 
troops were the 2nd Battalion of the 64th Infan- 
try. The Colonel, a trimly built little man, and 
every inch a fighter, was eating a bar of choco- 



122 




St. Joan of Arc. 



Rembercourt 123 

late. "Here, Chaplain, have a bar of chocolate; 
I have an extra one. By the way we are going 
to attack at dawn." 

The personification of coolness, how proud I 
was of him! He was ready; he knew his troops 
were ready; he was about to lead them to the 
heights of grim Rembercourt, one of the most 
prized and fought for positions along our front! 

These brave boys of the Second Battalion, go- 
ing, many of them, to their death, needed us. 
Good Chaplain LeMay of the Battalion would 
need assistance; moreover the 55th Infantry 
would be in that attack, and they, at that time, 
had no Catholic Chaplain. Many needed Sac- 
ramental Confession ; all needed God's blessing. 
At once, I decided to cancel the two Masses I 
had planned, and accompany them. 

In column of squads the troops moved down 
the valley. As we were but eight hundred 
marching against a strongly held hill, every ap- 
proach to which fairly bristled with machine 
gun nests, success depended primarily on the ele- 
ment of surprise. We were prepared to pay 
something for that hill, but if we could rush it, 
the cost would be minimum. 



124 The Greater Love 

The alert enemy had thrust forward tentacles 
of listening posts deep into our neighborhood, 
and, if a chance star shell revealed us, he would 
lay down a deadly barrage. 

We were favored indeed by a blanket of 
chill fog, that hung over the valley, but our go- 
ing in the slimy, sticky clay was labored and 
slow. 

Dawn found us in the shelter of a hill near the 
old mill north of Jolney. This old stone build- 
ing overhung the river, and stood at the eastern 
end of the bridge. Later that day it was occu- 
pied by General Wahl, commanding the 13th 
Brigade, and used as his Headquarters. At this 
point the column was halted ; and Colonel Lewis, 
Major Black, I, and two privates walked for- 
ward about five hundred yards around the foot 
of the hill to reconnoitre. The railroad leading 
to Metz paralleled this valley; and, but a few 
yards ahead, half a dozen box cars, hit by our 
shells, were burning. 

The river at this point is about one hundred 
yards wide and at no place over five feet deep. 
It is spanned by a stone bridge sharply arched, 
built for heavy strain. 



Rembercourt 125 

Our objective lay on the opposite shore, a hill, 
some three hundred feet high, covered with 
scrub oak and cedar. This hill, which com- 
manded the village of Rembercourt and the en- 
tire valley, had been firmly held and desperately 
defended by the enemy even against Pershing's 
September attack. Ours was now the coveted 
honor of wresting it from his grasp, once and 
for all. 

Two courses lay open to our crossing, one, to 
use the bridge, the other to wade the river. The 
Colonel discouraged the use of the bridge, as 
the fog was even then thinning out, and, if the 
column were discovered, in silhouette, artillery 
would speedily destroy it. He therefore direct- 
ed Major Black to have his troops wade the 
river, keeping on the sheltered side of the bridge. 

Holding their guns clear of the water the men 
waded across in silence, keeping single file. The 
first man to step into that icy water was the gal- 
lant little Colonel, his blue French gas mask at 
"alert," his "forty-five" and precious bars of 
chocolate held safely above the water. I was 
directly behind him. A long column marching 
in single file through a muddy stream soon cuts 



126 The Greater Love 

a deep channel; and the last two hundred men 
to cross made wet work of the wading. 

That our thoughts were at least partially 
human at that time, I now recall the following 
form of reasoning expressed by a Buddie near 
by. "I am going to get pneumonia out of this 
wetting; but, most likely, I'll be killed anyway 
in this hill attack, so I should worry!" 

Just at the river edge, a boy suddenly dropped 
his rifle and began to alternately wildly laugh 
and cry. A sergeant quickly placed his hand 
over his mouth to silence him lest his calls might 
reveal our presence to the enemy. Gently lead- 
ing him to one side he left him for the First Aid 
detail. His poor mind had given out under the 
terrible strain; shell shock, it was called. No 
comment was made by the men marching past; 
they pitied him, knowing it was not that he was 
a coward or a quitter, but simply that he had 
gone insane under the deadly reality of it all. 
Why more did not go mad in that Valley of 
Death only God can explain! 

Emerging on the far shore, we picked our heavy 
way across the stretch of swamp, that led toward 
the base of our objective. Although the enemy 



Rembercourt 127 

was not aware of our presence in force, he was 
keeping up a desultory shelling of his hill base 
as a matter of ordinary precaution. Like the 
flare of June bugs along the roadside in summer, 
high explosive shells would burst every few min- 
utes, here, there, and in most unexpected places. 
Colonel Lewis ordered that the men be kept in 
as open formation as possible, so that fewer 
would be hit at a time, and falling shells be re- 
duced to minimum zones of destruction. 

Here we had just assembled and were forming 
for the attack when the sheltering fog suddenly 
lifted. It was now eight o'clock. We had not 
yet been discovered. The men were ordered to 
lie in their tracks and await orders. 

From the spiritual point of view this delay 
was opportune ; as it offered opportunity of pass- 
ing down the line, to hear confessions and ex- 
tend to all the boys divine aid. 

Surely that halt was a God-send! The prayer 
of many a mother, far overseas, had moved the 
Good Master to give her soldier boy this last 
chance to pause for a prayer on the threshold 
of death ! 

This was pre-eminently the Chaplain's hour! 



128 The Greater Love 

Above all others were his every ministration and 
word and glance prized and respected. 

There were no infidels, no religious scoffers, 
among those soldiers seriously awaiting the zero 
hour. In the rear areas and rest billets, the pro- 
fane and irreligious word might often have been 
heard; but face to face with Death, Judgment, 
Heaven or Hell, the skeptic was silenced. Boys 
who might have been hitherto negligent in ap- 
proaching the Sacraments were now the first to 
call to me, "Father, I want to go to Confession." 

In a time so uncertain, momentarily awaiting 
orders "Over the Top," to hear each one indi- 
vidually was physically impossible, For just 
this emergency, the far-seeing, merciful Church 
of the All Merciful God has provided a means. 

It is the General Absolution, so beautifully 
administered by Chaplain McDonald of the 
Leviathan, and which our Faculties provided. 
When a person in such emergency could not ac- 
tually confess, he made an act of Perfect Con- 
trition, being sorry for his sins because by them 
he had offended the Good God, and with the 
intention of going to Confession as soon as he 
could. While confession was always desirable, 
sorrow was ever, indispensable. 



Rembercourt 129 

In our case the priest was morally and physi- 
cally present and he gave Sacramental Absolu- 
tion to all, using the plural, "Ego vos absolvo a 
peccatis vestris." 

Whether on the battlefield or in hospital 
wards filled with men dying of disease or 
wounds, the priest has a divine message to de- 
liver and a sacramental duty to perform from 
which no manner or danger of death can deter 
him. "Is any man sick amongst you," says St. 
James in the 24th Chapter of his Epistle (Douay 
or King James version) "let him call in the 
priests of the Church, and they shall anoint him 
with oil in the Name of the Lord." It was in 
the fulfillment of this Divinely imposed duty 
that 1600 priests of America voluntarily turned 
aside from their parochial work, and, reconse- 
crating their hearts to the Greater Love, entered 
the National service as Chaplains during the 
war. 

Seriously the boys studied the hill. On its 
rugged side was about to be staged a tragedy in 
which every soldier knew he was to take part. 
The training of months past was but rehearsal. 
The leaving home, the oath of military service, 



130 The Greater Love 

the weary grind of march, and weapon drill, the 
rigid discipline, all these were but evolving 
phases, making for the formation of the sea- 
soned soldier. And now they had reached the 
high altar of National service on which they 
were prepared to sacrifice their young lives. 

"Morituri salutemus!" Look closely into the 
faces of those heroic boys: approach with rever- 
ence the sanctuary of their thoughts. 

In long, regular lines they lie, immediately at 
the base of the hill. Most are still and motion- 
less, helmeted, and with bayoneted rifles, like 
figures some Bartholdi or Rodin might have 
chiseled from bronze. Some, with free hand, 
are molding from the yellow, slimy clay, quaint 
little images, suggested, possibly, by thought of 
the little tin soldiers of boyhood days. Some, 
lying prone, are dreamily observing the blue sky 
showing here and there through billowy clouds. 
Some have made of their helmet a pillow and 
appear to sleep. Some with jest and story are 
radiating a subdued merriment. Some, with eyes 
staring straight ahead, seem as in a trance 

In that tragic hour I looked with their eyes 
and saw with the vision of their soul. The pic- 



Rembercourt 131 

ture we all in common saw was painted on the 
canvas of memory. 

It represented any American town; preferably 
one bowered with maple and elm, and cast in 
a setting of emerald landscape. Just back from 
the winding road, a cottage, trellised with moss 
roses and forget-me-nots. Framed in the door- 
way, a sweet-faced mother, silver threads amid 
her gold of hair, is looking across distant fields. 
A path leads over the hill, and it would seem 
she watched and waited for someone! 

Last night she knelt beside a vacant chair, and, 
in the lonely vigil of her tears, prayed that God 
would bless and spare her boy. In the window 
hangs a service flag. Tomorrow, My God! 
there shall a message come from overseas chang- 
ing its silver into gold! 

Who is it can smile with heart breaking the 
while 
When the soldier bids loved ones "Fare- 
well"? 
Whose heart is it grieves, when the patriot 
leaves, 
With an anguish that no tongue can tell? 



132 The Greater Love 

It's only the mother! For man knows no 
other 
Whose soul feels the weight of such woe ; 
Who can smile and look brave and for 
lonely hours save 
The torrent of tears that must flow. 

Whose heart is it knows that wherever he 
goes 
He'll be true to his country and flag? 
That he'll fight the good fight and die, serv- 
ing the Right 
With never a boast or a brag? 
It's the mother whose breast as a babe he 
caressed 
And who watched o'er his childhood with 
joy. 
Though the years may have flown, and to 
manhood he's grown, 
Yet to mother he's always — "My boy" ! 

Who is it can yearn for the soldier's return, 
When the trumpet of war calls no more : 

When victorious he sees his proud flag kiss 
the breeze 
Of his own, his beloved, native shore? 



Rembercourt 133 

It's the mother whose face like a halo of 
grace 
Hovered near him to cheer him afar. 
Angels envy her joy as she welcomes her 
boy 
Triumphant returned from the war! 

Who is it shall kneel at the graveside and 
feel 
The full woe of a soldier boy, dead! 
Who shall measure such loss, who shall 
carry the cross, 
And yet live, when his spirit is fled? 
It's the mother who'll wait at Death's 
golden gate, 
Where sorrow and parting shall cease! 
And she evermore with her boy as of yore, 
Shall <be crowned in the Kingdom of 
Peace! 

One of the brave company commanders in 
this Battalion was Captain Hall. Coming to me 
he said, "Chaplain, if I get 'bumped' in this at- 
tack, I want you to do me a favor." He then 
gave me a written message to a certain person in 
the Division who owed him $300.00. "Get after 



134 The Greater Love 

him, will you, Chaplain, and see that the money- 
reaches my folks." "I will be glad to, Captain," 
I replied. Then, as one good turn deserved an- 
other, I wrote out and handed him a little note, 
which, if he, and not I, came through alive, was 
to be forwarded to my Chicago home. The Cap- 
tain was a graduate of West Point, and had seen 
hard service both on the western plains and in 
the Cuban war. His hair was gray, and he wore 
a long gray mustache of which he was proud, 
and which he was in the habit, when especially 
thoughtful, of stroking. My hair also was gray, 
especially since our last gas attack in Bois-le- 
Pretre. 

A Captain from Philadelphia lying in the 
mud not far from us, noticing our two gray 
heads close together, mischievously and in a stage 
whisper remarked, "Old men for counsel, but 
young men for action!" What Captain Hall, 
blazing with sudden wrath, thereupon said to 
him, I think it just as well not to here record! 
At the time, however, it seemed that he sort of 
expressed my own feelings on the subject! 

Gallant Captain Hall came through alive ; but 
I can see him even now in the very thick of the 



Rembercourt 135 

fighting that followed a few minutes later. 
Standing out on the hillside in full view he 
fought with his steel blue "45" a duel to the 
death with a German officer who rashly attacked 
him. For a moment I held my breath, as they 
deliberately exchanged shot for shot. Then I 
saw the German fall heavily; and Hall, his right 
hand twirling his gun, and his left fondly strok- 
ing his mustache, coolly surveyed the line look- 
ing for another shot. 

It was two in the afternoon before the fog be- 
gan to thicken. The zero hour was at hand! 

Although we had marched many weary miles, 
had lain motionless in the mud for five hours, 
and had meanwhile tasted neither food nor 
drink, we did not mind it. One ignores bodily 
needs under heavy mental stress. I carried a 
little meat and bread in my pocket, which, that 
noon, I shared with good Father Le May. 

At two- thirty, when the sheltering fog was 
'thickest, quietly the word was passed down the 
line "Get ready." At that moment I was near 
the western end of the column near a stone 
quarry, strongly defended by the enemy with ma- 
chine guns and automatic rifles. 



136 The Greater Love 

Promptly the boys made ready, slipping off 
packs, many even their blouses. It was to be a 
bayonet rush up that hill, and the idea was to 
feel as cold and shoulder free as possible. The 
pain of mustard gas is not so intense if one's 
body is cool and dry. Officers as well as men 
were lightly clothed ; their only weapons, auto- 
matics. I substituted a sweater for my blouse. 
All felt the tense strain, and throats grew dry 
and temples throbbed. 

At that moment was given a final General Ab- 
solution and Blessing. 

Sharply, along the crouching line like a flash 
of fire, boomed the command to advance — "Guns 
and bayonets now, boys, and give them hell!" 
Instantly leaping forward, the men hurled them- 
selves up the hill. Helmeted, masked, their 
bayonets flashing, like the crested foam of some 
giant wave they swept forward. 

We had not advanced fifty feet when over the 
hillside there burst a hail storm of lead. The 
enemy hurled into our faces every manner of 
destruction; bullets and steel fragments 
screamed through the air, "thudding" into every 
foot of ground! 



Rembercourt 137 

The first boy to fall was Riorden of New Jer- 
sey, who pitched forward, terribly torn, shortly 
to my right. Onward and upward swept the 
line. As I paused a moment beside Riorden to 
absolve him, Walsh of Syracuse, New York, 
running some thirty feet in advance, waved his 
arm for me to hurry. "Holy Joe" was the name 
given the Chaplain. I never knew its origin, 
but it was the title most generally used and al- 
ways with the utmost respect. 

Even then could be heard the horrible crash 
of steel on steel, hand to hand bayonet contact, 
screams of terror and pain, when the blade drip- 
ping blood was withdrawn from its human 
scabbard. The advance soon reached the hilltop 
and the gray-clad Germans resisted desperately. 
The most terrible, horrible, and indescribable of 
all sights and sounds were now before me. Wild- 
eyed, panting, fiercely visaged boys in American 
khaki and German gray, feinting, parrying, and 
madly lunging with glittering bayonets — the 
crash and shrill metallic stroke of steel on steel> 
and Oh ! the grunt and scream of agony when the 
blade sank to its hilt in a blood-spurting human 
breast! Each boy, in that moment of deadly 



138 The Greater Love 

shock, was fighting for his own life — it was de- 
stroy first or be destroyed, and the first to get in 
a fatal blow survived. No alien soldier lives 
however, who can withstand that most terrible 
and supreme of all fighters — the American 
Doughboy! Hands were being raised and cries 
of "Kamerad" heard from every side. The grim 
heights of Rembercourt were ours ; but, my God ! 
see the price weliave paid for that eight minutes 
of struggle. 

Boys are down all over the hillside, dead and 
dying. Tossing, moaning, begging for help, 
their cries of agony pierce the heart. From the 
military point of view, indeed, it was called a 
splendid, clean-cut piece of work. Rembercourt 
and its approaches in our hands at last, with 
hundreds of prisoners and spoils of war — all at a 
loss to us of but nine killed and fifty-two 
wounded. 

Ah! but who shall measure the cost of those 
nine dead boys to mothers and beloved ones at 
home! See their lifeless forms lying there amid 
the wreckage of the hillside. A few minutes 
ago they knew the thrill of vigorous young man- 
hood; they knew that death might claim them in 



Rembercourt 139 

that charge; bravely they went over the top, 
hoping for the best. 

From one to another I hurried with service 
for all. The dying claimed first care; the dead 
had to wait; and the chill shadows of night had 
crept to the hill crest before all the wounded 
were removed and the last poor body buried. 

A terrific cannonade had meanwhile been in 
progress. Our batteries had opened along the 
entire front. Tons upon tons of steel were pass- 
ing on wings of thunder not three hundred feet 
above our heads. Little heed the boys gave it, 
so occupied were they with duties near at hand. 

Finally, numbed and over-powered to the 
point of utter exhaustion, I sought an abandoned 
shack at the foot of the hill. Without removing 
so much as a single garment, still wet from wad- 
ing the river, with no taste for food or drink, I 
threw myself on the floor and fell at once asleep. 

It was dawn of the following morning, Mon- 
day, November u, when I awoke. If the can- 
nonading of the evening before was terrible, that 
morning's bombardment was infinitely more so. 
It was the first time I had heard a full powered 
"Drum Head" barrage — where so many batteries 
and guns are engaged that the sound of firing 



140 The Greater Love 

and subsequent explosion is continuous and uni- 
fied in volume. The hills and valleys shook un- 
der the rocking recoiling guns as from an earth- 
quake. 

Going among the men, I found even the most 
seasoned of them grimly silent Their faces, set, 
as in plaster cast along cadaverous lines, deeply 
furrowed and caked with dust, perspiration, and 
powder smoke, made hideous appearance. 
Never have I seen such wan, frightful expression 
in human eye. As grim automatons they han- 
dled their guns, and moved silently about. Pos- 
sibly they were too wearied to talk ; for to speak, 
so as to be heard, meant calling at the top of one's 
voice. 

Not far away I met Colonel Cummings. B rief - 
ly I narrated the happenings of the day before 
at our west end of the line. Most warmly he 
congratulated us and then, in confidence, in- 
formed me "Foch has agreed to an Armistice!" 

He had just come from Headquarters, which 
was sending out orders to line and battery com- 
manders to cease firing, that very morning at 
eleven o'clock. 

Silently we gripped hands; but the hearts of 
both of us thrilled with "Te Deum." 



CHAPTER X 

ARMISTICE DAY — GORZ 
Meanwhile our entire front was advancing, 
following the barrage waves. No more des- 
perate struggle than ours could have been 
found at any point. Writing of that day, the 
official A. E. F. newspaper, "Stars and Stripes," 
under date of November 15th, declared: 

"Attack Before Vigneulles 

"Probably the hardest fighting being done by 
any Americans in the final hour was that which 
engaged the troops of the 28th, 92nd, 81st, and 7th 
Divisions with the Second American Army, who 
launched a fire-eating attack above Vigneulles 
just at dawn on the 1 ith. It was no mild thing, 
that last flare of the battle, and the order to cease 
firing did not reach the men in the front line 
until the last moment, when runners sped with 
it from fox hole to fox hole." 

I hurried along the line deeply pondering the 

startling report of the good Colonel. We had 

141 



142 The Greater Love 

been hearing various rumors that the enemy was 
frantically suing for peace ; all these we had set 
down as but propaganda. If the end were in 
sight, why this terrific eleventh hour barrage? 

The only reason I could imagine was, that its 
very frightfulness might so deeply impress the 
resisting troops themselves as to utterly destroy 
their morale. Once the soldiers themselves 
realized the weakness of the tottering dynasty be- 
hind them, and the overwhelming force of the 
army in front of them, total failure of their 
cause must be apparent. 

Supreme was my confidence in Foch and 
Pershing, and I felt that the course they were 
pursuing would prove, from the military point 
of view, the best. 

At five minutes to eleven I walked a little 
apart, up the trail, and began saying my Rosary 
Beads. They were always companion and com- 
fort to my trying hours. Fervently I implored 
her, who is "Mightier than an army in battle 
array," to intercede for us to her Divine Son. 
That, it were pleasing and good in His holy 
sight, this hour of eleven would mark the end. 

So occupied was my mind I had not noticed 



Armistice Day — Gorz 143 

the falling off in firing. Battery after battery 
was silencing! Gun after gun growing still. 

"Cease firing!" The command sped down the 
line; and it seemed these two words leaped into 
the blue vaulted sky above and were echoed in 
Heaven ! 

The utter silence that of a sudden came down 
upon that front was terrifying. More awful in 
its gripping impressiveness than the most terrific 
cannonading. You seemed, in that tense mo- 
ment, to have lost your footing on some storm- 
swept hill, and fallen headlong into a deep val- 
ley. There was no cheering. The boys simply 
looked at each other and waited; waited like the 
boxer who, having delivered a fatal blow, 
stands intently watching his fallen opponent, 
until the referee has tolled off the final count, 
and raised his arm in token of victory. 

Then came the reaction. Lusty cheers rose 
from all sides, helmets were tossed into the air, 
rifles were stacked, and impromptu cake walks 
and fox trots staged with grotesque abandon. 

No one ventured into No Man's Land, that 
was strictly forbidden ; but all over the rear ap- 
proaches jubilation reigned supreme. 



144 The Greater Love 

Groups quickly formed, excitedly discussing 
it all, "What's the big idea?" "Has Jerry quit 
for good?" "How do you get that way?" Some 
burst into song: "I Don't Want to Go Home." 

Suddenly a glorious sound came floating up 
the rear ravine; it was the Regimental band of 
the 7th Engineers, playing Sousa's "Stars and 
Stripes Forever!" 

Oh, how it thrilled and touched our very 
depth of soul! Its melody burst upon our unac- 
customed ears with something, at least, of the 
joy the shepherds felt, when Angels brought 
them "Good tidings" at Bethlehem! 

Out of all this trance of joy, however, stern 
Duty soon called us. Many a silent body, our 
own and the enemy's, lay unburied along the 
front. On requisition at Headquarters, two 
companies from a Pioneer Infantry Regiment 
were assigned to us, co-ordinating with our regu- 
lar Burial Details. Near and far we combed 
hills and plains for bodies, penetrating trenches, 
dugouts, and ruins. Six days of untiring effort, 
brought reward of warmly commending words 
from our Division Commander. 

At Mass the following Sunday in the old 



Armistice Day — Gorz 145 

ruined Church of St. Sebastian at Euvezin, the 
subject was recalled of those days of old when 
the Galilean Sea was tempest tossed. Then in 
the boat rose the Master who said to the storm, 
"Peace! Be still! And there came a great 
calm." Even so, had that same Divine Power 
now spoken along our torn battle front; and 
"May the Peace and Calm that now has come 
reign on forever!" 

That afternoon an artillery Regimental band 
gave a concert. Illustrative of the mental 
breadth and generous nature marking the real 
American boy, in its repertoire was to be ob- 
served Strouse's "Blue Danube Waltz!" 

It was during one of these eventful days word 
reached us from across No Man's Land that old 
men, women and children in the town of Gorz, 
across the German border, were entirely with- 
out food, and dying of starvation. 

Our forces were marking time in the posi- 
tions the close of hostilities found them occupy- 
ing, and, as the time for moving forward with 
the Army of Occupation was indefinite, we de- 
cided to go forward at once with food supplies 
for the starving inhabitants. 



146 The Greater Love 

This aid work was to be entirely informal and 
on our own initiative, no military provision hav- 
ing been made for such emergency. With little 
difficulty five tons of army rations were secured, 
and, accompanied by good Major Hirch, I set 
out. 

Our journey took us through miles of devas- 
tated country. Tons upon tons of war material, 
abandoned by the retiring German troops, lit- 
tered roads and fields. Clothing, helmets, small 
arms of all description, whole batteries of 
Howitzers still in position, dense black fumes 
from burning ammunition dumps, acres of 
barbed wire fields and hillsides shell-torn, bodies 
still unburied — all this was the spectacle of war 
havoc greeting the eye on every side. 

In the chill of that bleak November evening 
we crossed the German frontier and entered 
Gorz. Aged and feeble men and women looked 
sadly at us from their doors. Children, whose 
pinched faces clearly showed the ravages of hun- 
ger, timidly followed our supply trucks up the 
deserted street. 

We were the first American soldiers they had 
ever seen. Drawing up in front of the old mar- 



Armistice Day — Gorz 147 

ket place, Major Hirch explained our mission, 
speaking to the people in German. 

When the poor starved creatures realized we 
were bringing them food, their joy knew no 
bounds ; the children shouted with very joy and 
swarmed up into the trucks. We found our- 
selves crying, but supremely happy in the reali- 
zation that we were doing the Master's work. 

The inhabitants fluently spoke French as well 
as German; and when the children saw the 
Chaplain's cross and found I was a priest, their 
reverence and affection was most pronounced. 

The food, indeed, was but the coarse Army 
fare, "bully" beef, hard tack, and condensed milk ; 
but, withal, it was relished most keenly. We felt 
gratified in the humble part we had played in 
saving the lives of those unfortunate non-com- 
batants, and organizing our first Divisional Re- 
lief Expedition into Germany. 



10 



CHAPTER XI 

DOMREMY— HOME 

"Major Whittington, I have not had a furlough 
since we landed in France." 

"I guess that's so, Chaplain; which city would 
you prefer visiting, Paris or Metz?" 

"Domremy — ." 

"Domremy!" he exclaimed, "I never heard 
of the place. However, you may go." Then, 
with forced seriousness, added, "I believe you 
are needed in Domremy on Official Business." 

It was December eleventh. We had long been 
anxious to visit the birthplace of Joan of Arc. 
The story of her heroic brilliant life had ever 
interested and inspired us; and now, to actually 
be in the hills of her native Lorraine, to make 
a pilgrimage to her shrine, became our supreme 
ambition. 

I could indeed have visited Domremy before, 
but purposely had I waited for this date. On 
December thirteenth, President Wilson, coming 
to the Peace Conference, was to land in France. 

148 * 



Domremy — Home 149 

I wanted to say Mass, that very morning, at the 
shrine of the Maid for the welfare of the Presi- 
dent. 

A one hundred and fifty mile trip from Thia- 
court to Domremy, south of Verdun on the 
Meuse, especially in an open motorcycle car and 
through a blinding storm of hail and rain, is not 
particularly pleasant. 

When we recalled, however, the arduous jour- 
ney she, a girl, of eighteen years, had once made 
on horseback from Domremy to Chinon, three 
hundred miles, through snow-covered roads, we 
determined that nothing short of a Firing Squad 
should stop us. 

A cold I had contracted at Rembercourt had 
settled in my back. Lumbago had painfully 
doubled me into an inverted "L," a figure not 
happily adapted to a cycle car. 

Laboriously adjusting myself to the machine 
I plainly told the Maid, "I wish you clearly 
to appreciate, Saintly Joan, that I am making 
this journey for you. Of old, you were supreme- 
ly helpful to the ruler of your country. I want 
you to do as much for the President of mine. I 
am going to say Mass on your home altar for 



150 The Greater Love 

him, and I want you to help me. If God spares 
me, and I return to America, I promise to pro- 
claim your glory and encourage all I can, young 
and old, in the practice of your devotion." 

Early dawn found us on our way. The steel 
helmet pulled low offers splendid protection 
to one's eyes. Traversing the old battlefields 
of St. Mihel, we passed ruined Euvezen and 
Essey and took the highroad leading south. 
The shell-torn steeple of Flirey church still 
leaned over the road; and the grewsome Limey 
Gondrecourt front, its deserted dugouts resem- 
bling grinning skulls, elicited a sigh and a prayer 
for its dead legions. 

Through Noviant and Men-le-Tour we 
sped, and at noon were beyond Toul and racing 
through the historic valley of the Moselle. 

At Bullney, our speeding car was curiously ob- 
served by thousands of German prisoners peer- 
ing through the barbed wire enclosure of their 
roadside camp. 

Columbes-les-Belles, with its huge hangars, 
grimly stood in silhouette against a crimson burst 
of sunset. 

At Neufchateau we reached the river Meuse 



Domremy — Home 151 

with whose glory the names of heroic inconquer- 
able Petain and Verdun shall be forever shared. 

We were now in the picturesque "valley of col- 
ors," whose winding trails were trodden by the 
soldiers of Julius Caesar when "Omnis Gallia 
divisa est in partes tres" was written. 

With pulse beat quickened by thought of our 
hallowed pilgrimage nearing its end, we rushed 
like a specter down the road, through winding 
vistas of giant cottonwood and poplar; rounding 
a hill we came in full view of Domremy, and, 
with a final burst of speed, rushed splashing, 
and all a-thrilled with emotion, into its single 
street. 

Drawing up in front of the church, that of 
St. Remi, Apostle of the Franks, we were at 
once surrounded and curiously observed by a 
group of children. "Are these children now to 
see a soldier, still crippled with lumbago, or one 
the intercession of Joan has made whole?" This 
was the question I soliloquized, as I started to 
excavate myself from the mud-littered car! 

My chauffeur eyed me askance ; and the look 
of pleasure with which he noted my evident re- 
covery, told me he was as proud as I. The 



152 The Greater Love 

Saintly Maid had wrought her cure completely 
and with generous finality. 

At once we entered the Church. Five hun- 
dred years before Jacques and Isabelle d'Arc 
had crossed that very threshold, carrying the 
precious babe Joan to be baptized. The glow- 
ing ray of the sanctuary light welcomed us, and, 
perhaps, turned to jewels the tears of joy and 
reverence coursing our cheeks. 

The rough hobble nails of our shoes rang 
alarmingly on the stone pavement as we made 
our way up the hallowed aisle. On our knees 
before the altar we literally cried our prayers. 

Looking toward the lowly Tabernacle we felt 
that Jesus, the gentle Master there present, was 
pleased with us. He seemed to look approving- 
ly upon us and to say, "My soldiers, rest here 
your weary head upon My Heart." 

At the very railing where we knelt, Joan had 
made her First Communion. Just at our left on 
the Epistle side was the ancient font where she 
had been cleansed from original sin, made a 
Christian, a child of God, and heir to the King- 
dom of Heaven. In the twilight, too, we could 
see the faded plaster statue of St. Catherine 



Domremy — Home 153 

Martyr, for whom she had special devotion. 
We felt, in that holy hour, that Joan, high in 
heaven, was pleased even with us; for we, too, 
had fought and bled for the same holy cause, 
the cause of Truth and Justice in the world, 
for which she had with the Greater Love offered 
the sacrifice of her life. How often, in that 
hallowed long ago, had the sun of early morning 
or the twilight glow of eventide found Joan 
here at prayer. In this sanctuaried Garden of 
the Lord grew the fairest Flower of Chivalry. 
Here did she receive the Bread of Life, the Wine 
that maketh Virgins; here, by frequent confes- 
sion, was her soul kept fair and pure as the lilies 
of Paradise. 

Darkness had fallen over the village when we 
left the Church. A call at the Rectory informed 
us that Monseiur le Cure was absent, and would 
not return till a late hour. At the end of the 
street we found a dear old couple, living alone, 
who agreed to shelter us for the night. With 
what skill good Madame made ready that eve- 
ning meal! Sitting in the square of light cast 
by the glowing fireplace, and with our shadows, 
to the tempo of crackling fagots, in rhythmic 



154 The Greater Love 

gyrations on the ancient walls, my driver and I 
watched her prepare it. 

First there was the pommes de terre to be 
peeled, washed and sliced to the exact size of 
centuries old French fry. Monseiur was per- 
mitted to assist her in this, and wielded the keen 
bladed knife with precision. Then there was the 
salad and the seasoning of it to just that degree 
of the "delicieux" the palate revels in. With the 
art, as it were, of a magician, she drew from 
a huge cupboard the most inviting piece of beef 
and proudly flourished it before our devouring 
eyes. Here was the makings of a "filet de boeuf " 
fit for Epicurius himself. In the center of the 
table was next placed the great round loaf of 
bread, neither wheat nor oats nor rye, but a 
happy combination of all and delightfully tooth- 
some. Crowning all, the liquid amber of cafe- 
au-lait, which Madame, timing our needs to a 
nicety, poured at just the right moment. 

During the meal, we diligently inquired if 
any lineal descendants of the d'Arc family were 
to be found in Domremy. No, not one! No 
person of the name lived in the village ; although 
most every girl and woman there bore the name 
of Joan! 



Domremy— Home 155 

After the meal, and when all had retired, I 
made my way out into the moon-lit night. Dom- 
remy was sleeping, nor did it give thought of 
"the stranger within its gates." Back to the 
Church, and to the home of Joan, still standing 
beside it, I made my way. I revelled in the 
historical ensemble of it all; and my desire was 
to become so imbued with its very atmosphere, 
as to verily breathe it all my remaining life. In 
fancy I reviewed the story of her life like pages 
of a book, and its thrilling deeds and transcend- 
ing achievements were made real before me. 

This very street was the Alpha of her public 
life ; the market place of Rouen its Omega! Rid- 
ing forth in the bitter cold of that February 
morning, 1429, with but meager escort and along 
three hundred miles of brigand-infested roads 
and trails, she traversed France to the court of 
Chinon. Convincing Charles VII of her divine 
vocation ; throwing herself into the war; rallying 
(the people to her standard; wounded in battle 
yet never wavering; animating veteran soldiers; 
bearing the brunt of the attack and shielding 
with her stainless bosom the heart of France. 

Her recompense? Abandoned by her king 



156 The Greater Love 

and by her countrymen, by the cruel path of 
flame she returns to God! 

The several hours following Mass, we passed 
in the home where she was born, and on the 
hillside where she toiled as humble shepherdess. 
Reverently, and in very awe of its beauty, we 
visited the magnificent Basilica the people of 
France have raised to her memory. The struc- 
ture is but partially finished; and I urged the 
good Fathers there in charge to visit America 
some day and give its people opportunity to con- 
tribute to so worthy a cause. 

Returning to the front we found the "War 
Cross" which had arrived during our absence. 
Colonel Lenoncle wrote as follows : 

"A Monsieur TAumonier McCarthy. 
En appreciation de la belle action de Charite 
qu'el est venie accomplir pour notre chere 
terre de France. 

P. Lenoncle, Col. Chas. 
in Compagne." 
The above referred to services in Bois-le- 
Pretre. 

"Tempora mutantur et nos ubique in illis." It 
is only the things that God has made that 



Domremy — Home 157 

change not. The moon, bathing in silvery sheen 
the village street, had made radiant, in that long 
ago, the face of Joan at prayer. The Meuse, 
softly flowing by, still voiced the echo of her 
dreams, and bore her spirit to the tideless sea. 

Nature had not changed; neither had the 
Author of Nature whose creatures are all men 
and whose ways are wise and just. For He 
whose "Mills grind slowly yet grind exceedingly 
small" is likewise He whose Master hand has 
written in this our own day, the illuminated 
Manuscript of her solemn Canonization. 

The golden fingers of next morning's sun were 
scattering incense of light over Joan's Altar 
as I began Mass. The lips of Old Glory kissed 
the Gospel side, while the tri-color of France 
was draped on the Epistle. A nun of the village 
answered the responses. Reverently I besought 
the Author of All that is Right and Mighty up- 
on the earth to bless our President; to be light 
to his path, wisdom to his mind, and right hand 
to his endeavor. That rulers of earth might base 
their deliberations on the rock of the Divine; 
mindful, that "unless the Lord build the house 
in vain does he labor who would build it." 



158 The Greater Love 

On December fifteenth I wrote as follows : 

Headquarters Seventh Division, 
American Expeditionary Forces, France 
Hon. Woodrow Wilson, President, 

American Embassy, Paris. 
My dear Mr. President: 

May I be permitted the honor of informing 
you that on Saturday morning, December four- 
teenth, I said Mass on the Altar of Jeanne d'Arc 
in her old church at Domremy, praying and be- 
lieving that God would bless and direct you, as 
of old He did the Maid, as His chosen represen- 
tative of Justice and enduring Peace. 

Most respectfully and devotedly yours, 

George T. McCarthy, 
Senior Chaplain, Seventh Division, 
A. P. O. 793. 

On December twenty-fifth I received the fol- 
lowing: 

Rev. George T. McCarthy, 
Senior Chaplain, Seventh Division, A. P. O. 

793- 
My dear Chaplain McCarthy: 

The President directs me to acknowledge re- 



Domremy — Home 159 

ceipt of your letter of December fifteenth and to 
ithank you for it. It is indeed gratifying for him 
to know that you are thinking of him and pray- 
ing for him especially in these critical times. 

Very cordially yours, 

Gilbert Close, 
Confidential Secretary to the President. 

Christmas Day was memorable. A fall of snow 
gave festive atmosphere to our outpost homes. 
"Jip" carried me from Euvezin, where I said 
Mass for Headquarters troop, to Grey Hound, 
where I repeated the Sacrifice for the Signal 
Battalion. With the coming of the holiday the 
boys had been rehearsing an old-fashioned min- 
strel show, with boxing and wrestling matches as 
side attractions. A long rambling shack near 
Bouillonville had been secured for the enter- 
tainment, and its battered walls adorned with 
holly and cedar branches. The hearts of all 
were sad and pensive that Christmas Day, far 
overseas, and the entertainment, lasting through 
five hilarious hours, did wonders in the way of 
reviving depressed spirits. 

December twenty-ninth marked the "ne plus 



160 The Greater Love 

ultra" of my active service overseas I In an old 
shack on the hills, swept with rain and swarm- 
ing with well meaning but annoying rats, I came 
down with the flu with a temperature of 103 de- 
grees. Doctor Lugar, who had nursed me 
through the gas attack, shook his head and or- 
dered me sent to Evacuation Hospital No. 1. 
Here I was delighted to meet my old friend 
Father Morris O'Shea of Buffalo, there sta- 
tioned as Chaplain. A few days later I was sent 
to Base Hospital "51" at Toul. The Medical 
Staff ordered me from Toul to America, and on 
February first I arrived at St. Nazaire on Biscay 
Bay. My supreme joy here was in meeting my 
niece, Miss Honor Barry, who had served as an 
Army Corps nurse in Base Hospital 101, located 
at this seaport, during nine arduous months. 

On February ninth I sailed on the Manchuria, 
arriving in New York on February twenty-sec- 
ond. Reporting at General Hospital 28, Fort 
Sheridan, 111., was thence ordered to the Army 
Hospital at Asheville, North Carolina. Six 
weeks in the ozoned hills of the Southland re- 
stored perfect health; and on May first reported 
for active duty at Fort Sheridan. 



Domremy — Home 161 

With the memory of sweet Domremy still be- 
fore us, we shall bring the humble record of 
service Over There to its close. 

In this period of valedictory may we be per- 
mitted a concluding reflection, projected in clear 
outline on the background of those thrilling 
days now forever over. That reflection, in sil- 
houette, is this — the great crises of life — whether 
decisive of weal or of woe, are, to the soul of 
normal man, God impelling! In direct ratio as 
danger and death impended in the gloomy 
wastes of No Man's Land, all soldiers grew 
religious and turned instinctively to God. In the 
zero hour the profane grew silent and the curse 
died unuttered on his lip. All, all, realized God! 
The trench became His sanctuary, the flaming 
front His Presence Light, the glow on the faces 
of dying comrades visualized the Gospel of His 
Greater Love. 

We needed God Over There, we need Him 
equally as much Over Here! Peace has its 
trials, its dangers, its lurking foes, its pitfalls, 
its hills of Pride to be conquered, its valleys of 
Despond to be overcome. The Rembercourt of 
Life lies before us. We survived that attack — 
who shall survive Death's final hill crest! 



' W9g £ 






"W 

.5°* 












'». « 



















0* ^> 



°* 



c* 















$■ o ♦..,. .0 | 

V- *«„ a* - 



^* 






:." sx ••! 



<v 



? t. 



^4 O "q^^^^ # Deacidified using the Bookkeeper proce 



r> Neutralizing agent: Magnesium Oxide 

** **HV # ^ <V^V^ *° TreatmentDat *WAY 2001 

r.^^ ^/aVV- % A* W Pr eservationTechnologj( 

*<*. AX »|R\8» A. Xft .£»' J A WORLD LEinPA IM D. De >i BB „»...... 






^?|vc5 V *i A WORLD LEADER IN PAPER PRESERVATK 

* <S m Thomson Park Drive 

A<*\^ oiu Cranberry Township, PA 16066 



\r*»z\y W'tt\* v-^V 




^ .# 






°ev 


















4. 

^a a!* *^rai^* «& «. *a€v^^« «£ a 



«• *.VW 4?' ^ *.. 








H<^ *<^ 



V . . . "^ ^f ^ " w ~ A v . . - ~-fc. 









.^^. 



.*>^6. 



.c 



